


I Hate You

by mediwitch3



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger, Angry Sex, Bottom!Harry, Budding Love, Dubious Consent, Hate, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Harry, Oblivious Louis, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrealistic Sex, Unsafe Sex, bottom!Louis, only in one brief instance though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediwitch3/pseuds/mediwitch3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis hate each other, a lot, but they pretend to be friends for the sake of their careers. One night, during an argument, they bang. They can’t keep their hands off each other after that. You can find shibbi at fanfictionandotherstories.tumblr.com, and every odd chapter is hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Fuck off Louis!” Harry stormed through their flat, face red with anger and nostrils flaring.

“God dammit, Harry! There’s fucking paparazzi outside, will you lower your voice?” The older boy threw down his bag and rubbed his eyes.

“Fuck the paparazzi! I can’t handle this anymore! I’m going insane! Let them know that I hate your fucking guts! Let the whole FUCKING world know that I HATE LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON AND HIS FUCKING GAY ASS EVERYTHING!”

Louis’s hand lashed out and smacked the back of his hand hard against Harry’s strong cheek. A loud crack sounded through the apartment and the younger boy stumbled back, cradling his face.

“How dare you, Harry! How fucking dare you blame this on me! You always make it about me! You’re not the one who has to live with the world’s horniest and most immature pop star! You are so fucking difficult to handle! Do you think I want to live with you and spend all my time cuddling you and caressing you?! No fucking way! Despite what you may think, sweetcheeks, I can’t fucking stand you either. You think you’re so great and everyone loves you, well let me tell you something; if my career didn’t rely so heavily on us making nice, I wouldn’t think twice before shouting to the world just how much I hate your selfish, narcissistic guts.”

He seethed, stepping close to Harry, breathing on his face as his blue eyes glared daggers into Harry’s green ones. They stood, eyes piercing, neither willing to be the first to back down. The air buzzed with tension, pressing further and further in on them, making their skin burn and tingle as though shocked by an electric current. Their hearts pumped loudly with adrenaline and testosterone.

Neither was sure who moved first. In the next moment they were gripping each other, mouths crashed together. Louis’s hands buried themselves deeply in Harry’s famous curls while the younger grasped at his slim waist, pulling their bodies together. They breathed in the angry air from each other’s lungs grasping and biting and forcing all of their frustration into the other boy. 

Harry’s hands tugged Louis’s shirt over his head before removing his own, their bodies magnetized together again as soon as their chests were free. Their bare skin created friction in the tense air, making it explode with feeling. Their skin burned so hot, it was as if the room around them was in flames, licking at their sensitive skin. But the only thing licking were their hot, wet tongues, sucking on every available morsel of flesh they could reach. 

The taller boy gripped the back of Louis’s thighs and hoisted him around his waist, spinning them around so the boy was supported by the wall. 

“Fuck you, Harry,” Louis growled in his ear as he sucked on his collarbone. A moan escaped from his throat as Harry rolled his hips into him, the friction on his hardening erection becoming too much. He grasped at the boy’s hair, mouth open and eyes closed.

“With pleasure,” Harry growled back. He pulled away from the wall, arms under Louis’s thighs, and threw him onto their large couch. His thin fingers deftly undid his trousers and slid them down. 

Louis’s chest heaved up and down with exersion, but he mimicked the boy’s actions, removing the rest of his clothing and lunging toward Harry again. Their bodies collided, falling and stumbling to the couch, mouths searching. Harry twisted Louis around in front of him using one hand on the boy’s strong back to balance himself.

“You and your fucking perfect everything,” he growled. He sucked on his finger briefly before pressing it into the smaller boy and listening to him hiss against the pain. The overwhelming jealously and hatred that he had felt toward the boy since the day they met came bubbling up to the surface. “Everything you do is perfect. No one ever criticizes perfect fucking Tomlinson.”

“I’m not the one fucking women old enough to be my mother,” Louis hissed back, leaning in against Harry’s fingers with a moan. Harry’s short fingernails scraped the skin of the older boy’s back, leaving angry, red lines that throbbed with ferverent heat.

“One fucking time, Louis, so shut it.” He lined himself up, bracing for the rough pain of pushing in nearly dry as he rubbed spit along the length of his cock, and pressed down hard, relishing the near sob that escaped Louis lips. The boy screwed his eyes shut at the pain and bit his lip, not saying a word, not trusting his voice. He couldn’t give Harry the satisfaction.

The younger boy hesitated, the pressure on his sensitive shaft nearly pulling him apart, it was almost too much.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he whispered. Louis laughed dryly.

“Virgin.”

Harry scratched along his back again, crossing his previous lines, marking Louis with his own design. He grabbed a fistful of Louis’s hair, pulled his head back, and pressed further into him. A groan burst from the smaller boy’s bruised lips, mouth agape. He squeezed his eyes shut as Harry began to pull out and push in more quickly, the slap of sweaty skin and their breathless moans and growls of anger the only noises in the flat.

“I’m. Not. A. Fucking. Virgin.” Harry grunted each word with a thrust, Louis nearly wimpering beneath him. 

The taller boy shifted, hand slipping on the sweaty surface of Louis’s burning back, and hit the soft spot within the boy that made him arch and yelp.

“Fucking hell!” He gasped loudly, Harry increasing his speed and holding onto his hips with both hands, digging his fingertips into his soft flesh. Louis rested on an elbow, bracing a hand against the back of the couch, while he used the other one to stroke himself, feeling the heat roll deep withing his stomach. His skin burned and his lungs constricted, he could feel his legs tremble as Harry hit that spot, that sweet, sweet spot, over and over again. 

The younger boy’s grunts became louder and his thrusting more sporadic. Louis’s body seized up and exploded from the inside out. It felt as though he were being ripped to pieces and fused back together simultaneously. He could no longer differentiate between where he stopped and the world around him began. His walls clenched tight around Harry, making him cry out and thrust three more time, his heat spilling into the smaller boy below.

They lay together, a hot, messy, puddle of limbs, panting, until Harry gently slipped out and slid to the floor, chest heaving and shining with sweat. He breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of their deed, and sighed.

“I still hate you,” he nearly whispered. Too exhausted to feel the burning hatred he had just moments before.

“Fuck off,” Louis sighed on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written by me, the previous chapter by shibbi.

Harry watched with a sort of vindictive pleasure as Louis shuffled around thestudio, clearly not very comfortable. He had to work to keep in the grin as Louis lowered himself gingerly into the seat beside him, tucking himself into Harry’s side. The other boys took their places on the couch, giggling and messing around while they waited for the producer to yell for them to start. The bottle blonde woman and her grey haired man-friend ignored them, chatting amongst themselves as they waited for the interview to start.

Harry inched his arm around Louis’ back, being sure to brush the leftover scratches from the night before. Louis turned slightly, glaring discretely at his not-quite-lover. Harry only smirked back, digging his fingers into the other boy’s side. Louis curled his own fingers around Harry’s hand, making it appear as though he was holding his hand, while pressing his index finger into the web between Harry’s own thumb and forefinger.

Harry winced, dissipating the pressure he had on Louis’ waist. Louis in turn released Harry’s hand, though not completely. To any outsider, it would look as though the boys were just being their normal, loving selves. But Harry knew better. That hand was a warning, letting him know that the second Harry tried anything, Louis would be on it.

The woman and her friend turned to them, wide, fake smiles plastered across their faces, as the producer yelled “rolling”. Louis sat up a little more, turning his battered back into Harry’s side, and laced his fingers in between Harry’s. Harry had to restrain himself from jerking away, from grimacing in disgust. Louis was always so much better at pretending than Harry was.

“Today, we’d like to welcome One Direction,” the woman started, clapping lightly as she introduced them, “They’ve just got back from a tour around the UK, and they’re going to be heading off to America in a few months.”

“They’ve also recently released an album,” the man added, a little too excitedly, “And they’re up for a Brit Award! Congratulations, boys! That must feel good!”

“Yeah, it does,” Liam answered happily, “We’ve all just been working really hard, and it’d be a dream come true to win the Brit.”

“We honestly never thought we’d get this far,” Zayn interjected easily, “We’re so grateful to everyone who has voted for us, and who will vote for us. We owe them a lot.”

“The fans are a huge part of what we do,” Niall continued, “We’d be nowhere without them.”

“We love our fans,” Louis exclaimed, “They’re the best part of this whole experience! They’re who we make the music for, they’re who’ve gotten us as far as we are, and they’re the reason we’re able to do what we love everyday  _and_  get payed for it!”

“And that we get to do it with four of our best friends,” Harry said, the lie rolling smoothly off his tongue, having been said so many times that it’d become second nature, almost. It’s not that he didn’t like the other three—no, they got on just fine—it was just him and Louis.

“That’s right! You’re all very close, aren’t you?” the woman’s smile widened. Harry nodded, answering for them.

“Yeah, we’re like brothers,” he told her, “Except me and Louis, of course,” He couldn’t help adding. Louis’ fingers squeezed his, warning him against whatever it was Harry was planning to do. The man looked at them, confused.

“What do you mean?” He asked. Harry grinned brightly at him.

“Me and Louis are best friends!” He proclaimed happily. “There’s a—ah— _level_ to our relationship that goes past brotherhood. ‘Brothers’ doesn’t quite cover all that we are,” he finished with a smirk, leaning his head against Louis’, who dug his nails into Harry’s hand in response. The man smiled nervously in response, his female counterpart giggling awkwardly.

“Well, you’re obviously very close,” she remarked. Harry’s smirk expanded wider on his face and he nodded, pushing a kiss into Louis’ hair. Louis jerked slightly as Harry’s teeth tugged gently on his scalp, anger and arousal burning under his skin. Harry released his hair, pulling back to grin innocently at the interviewers from around Louis’ head. Louis kept his eyes staring straight ahead, not allowing any emotions to cross his face.

Harry continued teasing Louis throughout the interview, unable to help himself. He loved riling that boy up—and now he’d found a more effective way of doing it. It was so  _easy,_  too. All he had to do was tighten his fingers on Louis’ waist, or blow gently across his ear. Louis’ fingers would clench Harry’s hand each time Harry did something, his short fingernails biting into his skin.

As soon as the interview was over, Louis was up out of his seat, pulling Harry along by his hand. Louis shuffled as quickly as he could out of the studio, small pains shooting up his back with each step. He stopped when they reached an empty corridor, and Louis rounded on Harry.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Louis demanded angrily; Harry just smirked. “You little  _fucker._  What were you doing? What are you trying to pull?”

“Just having a bit of fun,” Harry said innocently, “The interview was boring as fuck.”

“Yeah, okay, a little bit of fun,” Louis rolled his eyes, “That’s all it was.”  
  


“What are you talking about, Louis?” Harry asked mischievously. Louis shot him a glare.

“You know too fucking well what I’m talking about,” he growled, “The touching, the squeezing— _the biting._  It was irritating.”

“You didn’t like it, Lou?” Harry smirked, inching closer to the other boy, who didn’t notice. “It seemed like you enjoyed it.”  
  


“Fuck you, Styles,” Louis spat.

“Again? I know I’m irresistible, Tomlinson, but you could at least  _try_  to make it seem like you don’t always want in my pants,” Harry teased. Louis’ face flushed and he glared harder at the curly-haired young man.

“Shut it, Styles,” he seethed, “You act like you know everything, but you  _don’t._ You don’t know my life, you don’t know my struggles—you don’t know  _me_.”

“I know you better than you think, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said roughly. They stared each other down, neither willing to break eye contact. Louis’ face was a mask of anger, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering. Harry only smirked, mirth and mischief dancing in his irises.

And then they were kissing. If one could call it that. Harry’s hands gripped Louis’ face tightly, where Louis’ clung desperately to Harry’s curls. Their mouths moved angrily, teeth clacking and noses bumping as they stumbled around the empty corridor. Harry decided to take control of the situation, turning Louis and shoving him into the wall. Their mouths separated briefly, and they both breathed in deeply, before coming back together.

Harry moved his hands down to grip at Louis’ hips, which bucked up at the contact. Harry smirked into Louis’ mouth, shoving Louis’ hips back into the wall forcefully. Louis let out a hiss and a groan as the scratches hit the wall, unsure whether or not the pain in his back was arousing. He thought maybe it was.

In response to Harry’s brutality, Louis shoved his hands harder into Harry’s hair, yanking the curls and scraping his scalp. It was Harry’s turn to moan—he had a thing for people pulling his hair. He bore his hips down into Louis’, tearing groans and whimpers from his partners mouth. He swallowed them greedily, shoving his tongue further into Louis’ mouth to lick the sounds from the opening.

Louis tilted his head back, accepting Harry into his mouth with little pants of encouragement. He canted his hips into Harry’s in response, desperately searching for something he knew he shouldn’t want.

But with Harry all around him, it was hard to think coherently, and he ignored the part of his brain that screeched at him to stop, grinding harder into Harry instead.

“What the fuck?” The boys wrenched themselves apart, Louis forgetting to remove his hands from Harry’s hair and Harry his from Louis’ hips. The stared at Niall, in a state of shock, unsure of how to handle the situation they had unknowingly stumbled into. Niall shook his head, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna walk out, and come back again. We’re going to pretend I didn’t see what I just saw, because you two hate each other, and you totally don’t make out—ever. We’re also not telling Liam or Zayn about this, unless you two become a thing… You’re not a thing, are you?” Louis and Harry shook their heads frantically. “Right, so that’s that. No telling. And don’t  _ever_  let me catch you at it again, got it?” They nodded, watching with wide eyes as Niall turned on his heel and walked out of the corridor, mumbling  _“good Lord”_  under his breath.

Harry and Louis breathed identical sighs of relief—thank god for Niall. Liam or Zayn would have wanted answers; luckily for them, Niall likes being clueless. The two boys finally released each other, Harry shuffling away awkwardly, both of them adjusting their pants. Harry’s hands went up to fix his hair, and Louis righted his skewed t-shirt.

Niall came back in cautiously, breathing his own sigh of relief when he saw Harry and Louis on opposite sides of the corridor.

“Car’s here,” he told them, “Liam’s getting impatient, so we’d best be going.”

The three of them left, Louis still shuffling slightly. Niall turned around to say something to him, but noticed his awkward gait.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “What did you two  _do?_ ”

“I fucked him,” Harry stated. Louis yelped, glaring brilliantly at him, and smacked him on the chest.

“Harry!”

“Well! It’s true!” Harry reasoned. He turned back to Niall. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“I  _don’t,_ ” Niall answered, “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t into the kinky shit—like, don’t  _injure_  each other, yeah? The fans will notice.”

“Let’s stop talking about this,” Louis said hurriedly. Harry snorted, curling himself around Louis and pressing himself into Louis’ back.

“Aw, is little Louis  _embarrassed_?” he chuckled into his ear. Louis grunted, his cheeks flushing slightly as Harry’s waning erection brushed against his back. He nudged Harry off of him, limping over to fall into step beside Niall, who gave Harry an incredulous look. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What?” He asked. Niall shook his head.

“You have no idea how weird it is to see you guys touching each other voluntarily,” he mumbled. Harry just rolled his eyes.

Liam and Zayn looked up from where they had been pacing by the car as the three lads approached. Well,  _Liam_  had been pacing—Zayn was leaning against the car, watching his friend amusedly.

“What have you been  _doing_?” Liam shouted. “I sent Niall to get you guys fifteen minutes ago!”

“They were arguing,” Niall told him, “It took me a while to get them to shut up and listen.” Harry winked at Louis discretely, going unnoticed by the other three boys. Louis, on the other hand, blushed bright red. He rushed, as best he could, to the car, flinging the door open and shouldering Zayn out of the way. He scooted across the seat, sitting by the window. Zayn raised an eyebrow, but slid in next to him. The other boys piled into the car, Harry sitting across from Louis.

Louis was tense the entire way back to his and Harry’s flat, his muscles taut with anticipation. He was sure the other boys noticed his odd behavior, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was waiting for Harry to pull something else, and he couldn’t get out of the car fast enough when it rolled up to their flat.

Harry followed Louis in, closing the door behind him and smirking. This was too _easy_ , and too much fun. He slipped off his shoes, wandering into the kitchen where he could hear Louis making tea. He sauntered over, pressing himself up close behind Louis, grinning evilly as Louis tensed underneath him, his hands stilling on the counter. Harry rolled his hips, his dick rocking against Louis’ ass.

“Harry,” Louis moaned, “Stop it.”

“You don’t want me to,” Harry rumbled into Louis’ ear, pushing his rapidly hardening cock into Louis’ ass. Louis whimpered pitifully, pushing his sore bottom back against Harry. Harry grinned, seeing his win for what it was, and moved his hands, trailing them down Louis’ torso to the waistband of his trousers. He slipped his hands around Louis hips, undoing the button and zipper, and yanking the pants and boxers down in one go. A soft thump sounded as they hit the floor, and Harry quickly reached down to undo his own.

“How loose do you reckon you still are?” Harry breathed against Louis’ neck. Louis groaned in response, pushing back against Harry impatiently.

“Loose enough,” he said, and Harry grinned, spitting into his palm and coating himself. He didn’t bother with finesse—this entire affair was a messy one—and just shoved in. He burned a little at the bare friction, but once he was in the tight heat of Louis around him overrode the minimal pain he had previously experienced. Louis cried out, not expecting to be penetrated so swiftly. The pain was still there from last night’s endeavors, and this pain added to it. What was weird was, Louis found it oddly arousing.

Harry paused a moment, as Louis adjusted around him, before ploughing forward. Louis gripped the counter under him, groaning and whimpering with each thrust. Harry reached around, attempting to brace himself on the counter, but instead finding Louis’ hands. In the heat of the moment, he clung to them, knocking Louis’ into the countertop with each plunge of his hips.

The kitchen was full of hot, humid air, and desperate little gasps and moans as the boys slowly brought each other to their finish. Harry leaned down, sweaty curls dripping into his face, and bit into Louis’ shoulder through his shirt—hard—as he finished. The sensation of Harry emptying himself into him, along with sharp contrast of pain in his shoulder, was enough to send Louis’ splattering his ejaculate over the kitchen cabinets with a broken “Fu—ck”. Harry pulled out, releasing Louis’ hands—now white from the pressure—and leaned down, pulling his pants back up around his waist. He watched amusedly as Louis awkwardly did the same, wincing at the increasing pain in his lower back and backside. Louis turned carefully to look at Harry.

“This is not going to be a regular thing,” he told him sternly. Harry could see the lie shining in his eyes, but he nodded anyway—the game of breaking him was part of the fun of it.

“Sure,” he agreed easily. Sure, his ass.


	3. Chapter 3

The volume of the fan’s screams increased tenfold as the boys walked through the door to the small platform with a long table and five chairs. The amount of people crowded into the main lobby of the mall was ridiculous, their shrill voices bouncing off every surface.

Harry slipped around Zayn to stand beside Louis, waving as they took their seats. The oldest boy looked at him with suspicious eyes, subtly shifting his chair over to the end of the table, as far away from Harry as possible. The Cheshire boy laughed. None of the fans, or even the other boys, knew the vindictive pleasure he felt from watching Louis squirm beneath his intense gaze. They couldn’t understand how the hair on his arms would stand on end every time the boy was near him. His heart clenched with the hatred he felt for Louis fucking Tomlinson, and every time he managed to make the boy uncomfortable, the clenching loosened, just the tiniest bit, allowing him to breathe easier. So now, beneath the watchful eye of their fans, he intended to make Louis pay for being, well, Louis.

The line of girls, and a few boys as well, began to shift forward as the security removed the rope that had previously blocked their path. The large men in tight, black t-shirts allowed a  few fans through at a time, monitoring the flow. The people would start at the end with Niall, move on to Liam and then Zayn, and finally walk before Harry and Louis, smiles stretching across their faces. 

Louis’ was somewhat forced. He hated that Harry had moved beside him, he prefered the company of Zayn. He usually enjoyed the signings and the interaction with the fans, distracted from the constant feeling of Harry’s hating eyes on him, boring disgustingly into his skin. A shiver went up his spine as he felt them on him as the first girl approached their end of the table. 

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Harry’s deep voice rumbled Louis’s chest uncomfortably. He held back the scowl threatening to burst across his face with a practiced calm. 

The two girls in front of them looked as though they were about to faint, clinging to each other, red-faced and teary eyed.

“We’re great!” One of them managed to sputter out, beaming. 

“That’s great, love. What’re your names?” Louis asked as he reached for the pictures Harry was pushing toward him. His stomach dropped sickeningly and bile rose in his throat as Harry’s fingers brushed over his, trailing along the skin of his arm and resting there, lightly. Louis felt an overwhelming urge to snap the boy’s fingers and push him away. He could feel the green eyes on him, could picture exactly how smug the boy must be looking, without having to even glance at him. 

Louis had completely missed the girls’ names, but couldn’t bring himself to care, mind too occupied with the sickening touch hovering on his skin. He smiled the best he could, finished signing his name, and told them to have a great day.

His hand dropped below the table, gripping Harry’s thigh and biting into his leg with his fingers. The younger boy laughed and leaned his face to Louis’ ear, breathing hotly. 

“I barely touch you and you’re already riled up,” he whispered, breath tickling the older boy’s ear. He leaned into Harry and whispered back.

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Styles.”

By the end of the signing Louis was exhausted. Not only from the sheer amount of people, but from constantly keeping a smile on his face despite the anger that welled inside of him at Harry’s vindictive touch. The boy did it on purpose, he could tell, but that didn’t keep him from becoming angry and frustrated at the younger boy. He needed desperately to get away, knowing just where his anger would lead to if he let it. It had been too frequent over the passed weeks. Harry would rile him up during a public outing, he would become angry, and as soon as they were alone, he would fall into the pleasure trap and let Harry fuck him, again. 

The worst part  was, it was almost impossible to prevent. Nearly anything Harry did would make him angry and then he would only make it worse on himself by becoming angry because Harry managed to make him angry. He hated that small part in his brain that wanted it, that wanted the larger boy to roughly claim him. He hated how his raw instincts seemed to take over whenever the boy posed a threat, instead of thinking logically.

He sped ahead of the others, sliding into the far back corner of the van, resting his hot forehead against the cool glass and closing his eyes. He fought against the fervent images that flooded his mind, making his cheeks flush. Images and thoughts of Harry, naked and sweating as he pounded into him roughly, grabbing his hair and biting his skin, calling him names and swearing. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and pressed his palms against the flushed skin of his cheeks. No. It wouldn’t happen tonight. He would go home, jump in the shower for a quick wank, and go to sleep. That’s all he needed. He didn’t need Harry anymore. Despite what he said about their fucks not becoming a regular thing, they had, and he hated it. He hated the way his skin crawled, yet the heat low in his abdomen would roll plesantly, betrayingly. No. Not tonight.

He thanked whatever god there might be that Niall slid in the van beside him, and Zayn ahead, leaving Harry as far away as possible. It gave him an hour or so to calm himself down without the distraction of Harry’s touch. The boy wouldn’t dare reach over to touch him from this distance, it was too obvious and the boys, especially Niall, were already suspicious of their increasingly odd behavior.

The blonde boy had been careful around the two of them since the day he walked in. He never mentioned it, but Louis could see that he knew something was different.

He must have dozed off, waking as the doors of the van rolled open loudly, and the cool air hit his face. He debated about whether or not he should ask Zayn if he could spend the night, not wanting to face Harry, but the boy had rushed off while Louis had been battling the sleep in his eyes, and was far out of earshot. Instead, the oldest boy stuffed his hands in his armpits and jogged to the door, slipping in behind Harry. He kept his head down, heading for the bathroom with such speed he actually worried about tripping and decapitating himself on something.

Louis made it safely, closing the door behind him and turning the lock with a satisfying click before walking to the shower to turn the knob all the way. A scalding hot shower to get the feel of Harry from his skin and to urge along a nice wank before bed. Tugging his trousers and briefs down, as well as his shirt up over his head, he jumped under the spray, hissing as it burned his skin. He fumbled with the knob, turning it down enough so that legitimate burns wouldn’t form.

He didn’t hear the lock click once again, or Harry slipping in the room and removing his clothing. He didn’t notice anything amiss until a blast of chilly air blew in through the open door of the shower, sending goosebumps along his skin.

“What the-” he muttered, opening his eyes. He nearly screamed as he saw Harry in front of him. “Fucking hell, Harry!”

“Hey, bitch,” the younger boy drawled, climbing in and shutting the door behind him. 

Louis backed away, putting as much space between him and Harry’s — gorgeous — body as possible. No. He couldn’t do it. Not tonight. He was quitting him cold turkey. But his anger and frustration began to bubble to the surface, blocking away his rational thinking. He struggled to remain in control. Even as Harry grabbed his chin roughly in one of his large hands, slender fingers pushing into his damp skin, he mentally struggled, resolve becoming weaker with every breath he took, as if the air was filled with some sort of anesthetic gas, making him more vulnerable with every lungful. By the time the taller boy had yanked his face close enough to crash their lips together, Louis crumbled completely, as always.

His hands tangled themselves in Harry’s curls as they stumbled to leand against the shower tiles. Louis arched his back against the cold, the heat of the water not reaching the wall. The motion caused him to rub himself more fully agains Harry, gasping at the contact. The taller boy pulled his mouth away but forced his entire body along Louis’, the hot water dripping between every tiny space, soaking them.

“You tried to run away from me,” Harry growled. “You think I work you up all day so you can jerk yourself off?”

He dug his fingers into Louis’s hip, short nails biting at his skin, sending warning signals to his unresponsive brain. 

“Fuck you, Styles. Get out of my shower.” He seethed, breathing harshly through his teeth, drops of water rolling down his face as clinging to his long eyelashes.

“Tut, tut,” Harry shook his head, leaning in so close, Louis nearly went cross-eyed. “So bossy.”

He spun him around, hands firm on his hips. If Louis handn’t had the fingers drilling into him, he undoubtedly would have slipped and tumbled to the ground. His brain was screaming for ihm to stop, this wasn’t right, he was falling into the trap again, but his body ignored it, leaning into the fingers pressing into him. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” Harry whispered in his ear. “I can fuck you every day and you’d still be as tight as a virgin, I swear to God.”

“Shut up and fuck me already,” Louis growled back. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He knew he couldn’t stop it, what was one more quick fuck, anyway? It’s not like it meant anything. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck-“

He muttered the curse under his breath as Harry pushed the head of his cock into him, water running over their sweating bodies, steam curling in the air. The taller boy used one hand to grip Louis shoulder and the other to push his dripping hair from his eyes.

“Don’t. Run. Away. From me.” He grunted as he thrust, pain shooting through Louis’ skin, mixing into some sort of deranged pleasure, the same pleasure he felt every time they did this, every time he fell back into the trap. But now the trap didn’t seem like such a bad place to fall. He braced one forearm against the slick tiles of the shower and used the other to stroke his hard length in time with Harry’s thrusts, groaning and yelling as the boy twisted his body to thrust in varying positions. He only stopped his fidgiting when Louis yelled his tell tale sign, his name. 

“HARRY!” He gasped as the boy pounded against the bundle of nerves inside of him. “Right fucking there- oh fuck- GOD YES- harder-“

“You’re such a fuck slut, Tomlinson,” Harry grunted, digging his fingers into the bruises already littering Louis’ hips. 

Louis growled, pressing himself back against the boy behind him, the sound of their wet bodies slapping together echoing off the ceramic tiles and back to their ears. Harry groaned and bit down in the flesh of the hard back beneath him, squeezing it in his mouth, hard enough to leave marks, nearly breaking the surface.

He had once, on Louis’ shoulder. The skin had ripped open beneath his strong teeth, coppery blood dripping into his mouth. He had torn away, wiping the crimson liquid with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek. The older boy hadn’t even seemed to notice, or at least care. He had continued to pound onto Harry’s cock, distracting him from the blood in his mouth and dripping onto the floor. 

It hadn’t been until later, when Harry had been eating at the island in the kitchen, that Louis had burst in screaming about him being a vampire, waving a red stained towel in his face. Harry had yelled back, insisting that Louis was sick for not noticing sooner. The argument had lasted a full two minutes before their mouths crashed together once more.

This time Harry pulled back, moving his mouth to the other side to bite down again, feeling the oncoming explosion rolling in his belly. Louis keened high in his throat, panting for air as water dripping into his eyes and mouth. His skin crawled with electricity and he felt the pressure building inside him. 

“FUCK! Fuckfuckfuck-fuuuuuuck-AAHH!” He yelled in ecstasy as the white ribbon swirled to combine with the water swirling down the drain. Harry continued, pounding into his sore backside after he was already spent, his knees becoming weak as he began to sink involuntarily to the floor.

“Fuck it all, Louis, stay fucking standing until I co-OME!” He shouted at the tight pressure and Louis squeezed his walls around him purposefully. His body jerked and he emptied himself in the smaller boy, sinking with him as he thrust half-heartedly to finish himself off. 

His chest heaved against Louis’, water droplets innocently traveling down his spine, as if completely unaware of the deed recently performed.

“At least we don’t have to clean up,” Harry chuckled as he slipped out. 

Louis glared over his shoulder.

“You disgust me,” he replied with a vicious snap.

“Then I’m doing my job right, sweetcheeks.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’d been two weeks, and Harry was getting frustrated. He was frustrated, and angry, and  _horny._ He drummed his fingers absently on the table as he watched Louis muck around with Niall out of the corner of his eye. His leg jiggled with unused energy as his jaw tensed, his lips tightening into a thin line. He tapped his fingers harder against the desk as Niall’s hands wandered lower over Louis’ torso, tickling him, Louis’ giggle slipping into Harry’s ears, taunting him.

Louis had been avoiding Harry at all costs, and the only contact Harry had had in two weeks was his right hand. He was starting to chafe.

Zayn had been letting Louis stay at his house—the bastard had been doing that from time to time throughout their time together, whenever Louis needed a little space. Harry usually wouldn’t have minded; he liked his space from the other boy, as well. But the past two weeks had been absolute  _torture_. He’d forgotten how hard it was to quit sex cold turkey, and if he was being honest with himself, he needed some—like,  _now_. He was ready to explode.

He wasn’t paying attention to the interviewer, either. He was rambling into the microphone in front of him, talking about fans or something. Harry didn’t really care. All he knew was that if he shifted the wrong way, he’d have a huge problem on his hands, and that Louis was letting Niall touch him, and not Harry. And Harry was furious.

The interviewer wraps up, and Harry can’t get out of the room fast enough, scrambling from his seat and bolting to the parking lot. He hops awkwardly from side to side as he waited for the other boys to come down. Zayn exited first, waltzing over and slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. It took everything in him not to tense up under his friend’s embrace, the touch creating a queasy feeling in his stomach.

“Boys’ night out,” Zayn said, giving Harry a look like he knew what Harry was feeling, “You need to get out, Haz. You’re too on edge.”

Harry frowned, considering. If he went out with Zayn, he could find someone else who needed a quick fuck with no commitment—and maybe he’d even forget about the sting of Louis’ avoidance. He finally sighed, nodding.

“Yeah, alright,” he rubbed his face tiredly, a small smile playing at his mouth, “I guess I could use some time to unwind.”

“Excellent,” Zayn grinned brightly, dropping his arm as Liam came out with Louis and Niall. He turned to Liam, wrapping his arm around his shoulders, much like he had done with Harry only moments ago. The boys all piled into the car, Harry ending up next to Louis by chance. He was tense the entire ride home, Louis doing his absolute best to ignore him as he chatted with the other boys, their thighs pressed tightly against each other’s. It really couldn’t get much worse than this.

*~*~*~*

Apparently, though, it could. And it did, get worse, that is. Harry knocked back his drink, the thick bass of the music thumping in his bones as he looked around the dark club. Strobe lights flared for a moment, and he shut his eyes against it, his alcohol addled brain protesting the visual assault. A small hand on his forearm caused his eyes to flutter open, taking in the scantily clad girl in front of him. Her fingers stroked carefully on his arm, her eyes roving over his body hungrily.

“Would you, ah,” she licked her lips, her voice low in his ear as she rocked forward on her toes, “like to dance?”

Harry didn’t say anything, merely moving his hands up to grip her slim hips, pulling them down to his pelvis. He felt her smirk against his ear, her hair brushing his face. They stumbled blindly towards the dance floor, wriggling through the gyrating bodies, guided by the fluorescent paint that was splattered across sweaty skin and mussed hair. He rucked up her skirt, exposing her thighs to his wandering fingers. She turned, pressing her back against his chest, her hands twisting backwards to grasp at his hair as he ground into her ass.

His fingers curled under her skirt, now barely covering her, and wandering in between her thighs. He pressed his face into her neck, grinding harder into her as his hands searched for the bulge he was looking for. All he found was soft, damp panties, his finger slipping across the wet fabric as he started. He had forgotten that she was a girl, for a moment. He lifted his face from the sweaty crook of her neck, his mind telling him that that wasn’t what he wanted. She keened, pressing her hips back against him desperately as he started pulling away. Dammit, that was the third time tonight. He backed away from her, turning and walking away without even bothering to apologize.

His signaled the bartender for another drink, idly tapping his fingers as he waited for the alcohol in which he could drown in. The glass clinked on the counter top as it was set down in front of him, and the condensation dripped onto his skin as he lifted it to his lips. It burned all the way down, settling pleasantly in his stomach. He turned, leaning against the bar as his sipped, surveying the people around him.

He had lost track of Niall when he’d gone off with a petit brunette with great tits. Probably gone back to hers, he’d guess. And Zayn and Liam had wandered off somewhere together. God, they were totally fucking. He didn’t understand why they tried to hide it.

His eyes scanned over the crowd critically. If he couldn’t get with a girl, maybe there was a guy he could bang in the bathroom, or something. He needed a fuck, and he needed one  _now_. A frustrated sigh forced its way out of his mouth, the hot air gushing into the glass and fogging it up. His gaze brushed over a few potential candidates, before pausing on an all too familiar ass.

It took a moment for it to register in his brain that yes, that was  _Louis_  grinding with some slut on the dance floor. Anger flooded into his stomach, hot and molten. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed the dregs of his drink quickly before slamming the empty glass on the counter. His fingers clenched briefly against the counter, before he pushed himself off it, propelling himself back onto the dance floor towards his not-quite-lover.

Louis didn’t look up as Harry approached, continuing to thrust against the girl in front of him. He stiffened as he felt a broad back press against his own, an easily recognizable groin pressing desperately into his now still hips. He shivered as Harry’s mouth pressed against the shell of his ear, his hot tongue curling intimately against it.

“Can I have a word?” Harry growled, his voice low and rough, the vibrations of his words rumbling through Louis’ chest. Fury swelled in his chest, his heart pumping the toxic emotion through his veins, mixing with the unwanted arousal that was always present when Harry was around.

“No,” he snarled back, and the girl must have heard him because she turned around, her face slackening in shock as she saw the position they were in. Harry glared at her over Louis’ shoulder, his hands gripping his waist possessively. He turned his face into Louis’ hair, not breaking eye contact with the girl as he blatantly licked a stripe behind Louis’ ear.

“Do you two want to be alone?” The girl asked, eyebrow raised. Harry smirked.

“Yes,” he told her, ignoring Louis’ angry protest.

“No,” Louis said vehemently, pushing himself away from Harry and towards the girl, who was looking more confused and irritated by the second, “We  _don’t_  want to be alone.”

“He seems to,” she commented, eying Harry over Louis’ shoulder, who only twitched his eyebrow skeptically at her. Louis snorted.

“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” he said irritatedly, “He doesn’t control me.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry snorted, “That’s why you’re so scared to be alone with me.”

“I’m not scared to be alone with you!” Louis exclaimed, whipping around to glare at him, before swiveling quickly to reassure the girl, “I’m not scared to be alone with him.”

“Which is why you’ve been staying at Zayn’s for the last two weeks,” Harry said, his face triumphant. The girl’s eyes widened.

“You  _live_  together?” She asked incredulously, taking a step back, “Honey, sort out your relationship. I’m not gonna get in between boyfriends. I’m not  _that_  low.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Louis called desperately after her, his voice getting swallowed by the obscene music. He spun around furiously, meeting Harry’s amused gaze. “Look what you did! You complete  _arse_ , Harry Styles!”

“I think we need to have a chat,” Harry growled, grabbing Louis roughly by the wrist and hauling him towards the bathroom, Louis’ protests going unheard over the thumping of the bass. He shoved Louis into the single room restroom angrily, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it with a flick of the wrist. Louis rounded on him, his face flushing with rage.

“What the  _fuck?_ ” Louis shouted, “What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Harry laughed without humor, tossing his head back before sobering quickly, staring into Louis’ eyes, “What’s wrong is I haven’t had a proper fuck in two weeks!  _Two bloody weeks_! I’ve all but rubbed off the skin on my right palm!”

“I didn’t ask you to abstain!” Louis retorted angrily, ignoring the whisper of happiness at the back of his mind at Harry’s words. “I would rather you have gone and found some slut, because I’m not fucking you anymore!”

“Don’t try to pretend with me, Louis,” Harry growled, moving forward to stand right in front of Louis, staring determinately down into his face, “Don’t pretend you don’t want it. You belong to me. You  _like_  my dick in your ass.”

Louis felt his face burn, embarrassment boiling in his stomach and blurring his vision red. He raised his hand, intent on smacking the smug off Harry’s face, but Harry caught it in the air. He bent his face down closer to Louis’, still holding his hand by their heads.

“You really wanna try that again?” Harry asked softly, his breath caressing Louis’ face, “Isn’t that how this whole thing started?”

And it was with that that they were lip-locked, Louis surging forward forcefully to cover Harry’s mouth with his own. His skin burned as his heart pumped furiously, arousal replacing anger as they battled vigorously. He nearly burst into tears when Harry’s hips collided with his own, the feeling so sweet and familiar. He hadn’t missed this, he promised himself, he absolutely had  _not_.

“We’re not having sex,” he muttered against Harry’s mouth as his hands fumbled with the button on Harry’s trousers desperately, “We’re not having sex.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed breathlessly, shoving Louis shirt up impatiently, breaking their contact momentarily as he flung the offending article of clothing onto the dirty restroom floor, “That’s totally not what’s about to happen.”

“We’re  _not_ ,” Louis groaned as Harry’s boxers hit the floor, “We absolutely are  _not_ having sex.”

“No,” Harry told him, tearing Louis’ boxers slightly in his haste to remove them, “I’m not about to fuck you in the ass.”

“You’re not,” Louis whined, high in the back of his throat. Harry nodded, kissing him hard for a moment, before spinning him around so he was pressed up against the sink, staring into the grimy mirror of the club’s bathroom. Louis keened, complying easily as Harry gently kicked his feet farther apart, spreading his thighs for easier access. He shoved a finger in his mouth, sucking thoroughly, before he pulled it out. “We’re not having sex.”

“Say it one more time, I don’t think you’re convinced yet,” Harry told him sarcastically as he pressed his finger into him. Louis gasped, pushing his hips back into Harry’s hand. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“We’re not having sex,” Louis told him through his gasps, thrusting back against the three fingers that were now embedded in his ass. Harry pulled his fingers out, meeting Louis’ eyes in the mirror with a smirk. He spit heartily into the palm of his hand, slicking himself up. He held Louis’ gaze as he pressed into him, his eyes slipping shut with a moan, breaking the eye contact. “Okay,” Louis panted, unable to look away from the image of Harry in the mirror, “Okay, we’re having sex.”

“No  _shit_ ,” Harry groaned, “ _Fuck—_ so fucking  _tight_.”

“It’s—ah,” Louis cut himself off with a whine as Harry finally seated himself fully in him, “It’s been two  _weeks—_ of course I’m fucking tight.”

“Holy  _fuck_ ,” Harry panted as he started moving, his head dropping to rest against Louis’ shoulder, “You were never this vocal before.”

“I’ve never—fuck,” Louis cried out, shoving his ass against Harry forcefully as Harry hit his prostate, the pleasure raking shivers up his spine and exploding behind his eyelids, “I’ve never been this  _desperate_ before.”

“You would’ve fucked her, wouldn’t you,” Harry asked roughly, pushing his hips harder into Louis’, knocking him into the sink, lifting his head to watch him in the mirror, “If I hadn’t come in, you would—ah—you would’ve fucked that girl.”

“I’d have  _tried_ ,” Louis said, keening softly as Harry hit a particularly good angle. Harry growled gruffly, thrusting into him angrily, possessiveness clouding his brain.

“It’s time you learned who you belong to,” Harry rumbled into Louis’ ear, who groaned impossibly loud, “Mine.”

“Yours,” Louis answered, arching against him, his knuckles white as he clutched the sink, still watching Harry in the mirror, “I won’t fuck anyone else.”

“Good—your ass is  _mine_ ,” Harry stressed, before falling silent with a soft groan, turning his face into Louis’ shoulder once more. The only sounds for the next moments were Louis’ soft keens and pants, and the gentle slap of skin on skin. Harry finally came with a low groan, biting down on Louis’ shoulder out of habit. Louis finished soon after him, splattering over the ceramic of the sink with a small gasp of  _“Harry”_. Harry paused a moment, before pressing a soft kiss against the bite in Louis’ shoulder as he pulled out.

Louis’ heart swelled involuntarily, the heady euphoria that comes with sex mixing with unknown feelings. They made him want to smile like an idiot. He quickly squashed the idea, moving gingerly to redress himself. The two young men dressed silently, avoiding eye contact with each other. Louis watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry pulled his clothes on, the muscles shifting under the sex flushed skin. Unbidden thoughts of how attractive Harry was clouded Louis’ mind, rushing through his conscious and wreaking havoc.

He looked up to see Harry waiting awkwardly by the door. Louis finished buttoning his pants, before meeting Harry’s gaze, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting uncomfortably.  _You’re mine_ , Harry’s voice whispered in the corners of his mind,  _Mine_.

“I’m gonna go first,” Harry told him, gesturing towards the door with his thumb, and Louis nodded, “Wait a few minutes and then follow. If we don’t see each other and share a cab, then… I guess I’ll see you at home?”

Harry’s voice was almost hopeful, and Louis was startled slightly by this Harry. He wasn’t used to Harry wanting him—even if it was just for his body. He couldn’t blame the younger boy; after all, he was kind of using Harry in return. He realized that Harry was still waiting for conformation, and nodded quickly.

“Oh, yeah,” Louis answered, “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll see you at home.”

He watched in amazement as Harry’s shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly in relief. Harry nodded back, giving an awkward little wave as he exited the restroom. Louis sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. It really wasn’t worth fighting anymore. He just wanted it too badly.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Louis shivered slightly at the cold of the smooth kitchen floor on his bare feet as he waited for the toast to pop up from their rather fancy and expensive toaster. Why they hadn’t just gotten a normal toaster was a mystery to him; the amount of money they spent didn’t make the toast taste any better. 

His ears perked up at the sound of shuffling feet behind him, a drowsy Harry dragging himself to the fridge and swinging the door open. A strange feeling beat erratically in Louis’ chest, making him suck in an uneven breath. The noise must have caught the younger boy’s attention because he lifted his head to peer at Louis, eyes still slightly puffy with sleep and cheeks flushed. He raised an eyebrow quizzically as he reached a hand in the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk, unscrewing the cap and closing the door with his hip. A slight smirk twitched at the edge of the boy’s mouth. He crossed the kitchen, toward Louis, eyes losing their drowsy glaze and twinkling.

Louis blinked rapidly but kept his face stoic, what was this? This was Harry, the dickhead he was forced to live with if he wanted to keep his job. This shouldn’t elicit strange feelings in his chest. Maybe it was hunger. But Louis knew that wasn’t the case. He knew that his chest clenched uncomfortably as Harry approached, reaching above his head into the cupboard for a glass, because he couldn’t help but think of Harry’s face as he fucked him, the way his eyes glazed over in ecstasy, how he had kissed the spot on his shoulder where two, small, crescent shaped scars still lingered from the violent bite weeks ago. The skin tingled as he remembered, sending another shiver up his spine.

The toast popped up, nearly causing Louis’ to jump. 

“Do you want some toast?” He asked, carefully pulling the bread from the warm machine, dropping the pieces hastily on the plate as they burned his fingers. “And I was going to make some eggs.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry shrugged, taking both his cup and the carton of milk to the other side of the island in the middle of their kitchen and sitting on the bar stool. Louis slid the plate with two pieces of toast across the counter to him before stuffing two more slices of bread in the toaster. 

“We’re running low on food,” he said casually, cracking eggs into a bowl. “I was going to run down to TESCO’s after breakfast. Do you need anything specific?”

He whisked the eggs quickly and added some herbs and spices from the rack, along with a handful of cheese, before pouring the mixture into the sizzling pan.

“I’ll go with you,” Harry replied, spreading a bit of jam on the top of his toast. “You never get what I actually want anyway, I always end up having to do it myself.”

Louis scowled and prodded the hardening eggs.

“You’re the one who can never make up your mind,” he snapped. Harry didn’t answer, merely staring down at his toast with a tiny smile, so tiny in fact, that Louis wondered if it was actually a smile at all, or if he was merely imagining things. 

He twisted the knob of the oven off, extinguishing the flame, and picked up the pan by it’s handle. The egg slid easily onto Harry’s plate as the second round of toast popped up. 

The boys ate in silence, staring at their food with apparent interest. Louis glanced up across the island at his roommate, catching a flash of green before ducking his head down again and shovelling a few more bites in his mouth. Harry finished first, slipping off the stool and carrying his dishes to the sink.

“Give me five minutes,” he said before leaving the room. Louis wasn’t far behind him, rinsing his plate of the clinging egg chunks and loading everything in the dishwasher. He finished just as the younger boy returned, shaking his curly hair. “Come on, Tomlinson.”

—-

The store was relatively empty, ideal for two world famous popstars to do a bit of grocery shopping. The instrumental versions of famous songs played dully in the background, voices rising from aisle 4. 

“No, we need fettucini, not macaroni or spaghetti,” Harry shook the box in front of Louis’ scowling face. The older boy hit his hand away, huffing exasperatedly. 

“It doesn’t matter! Pasta is pasta.”

“It does matter when you’re making fettuccine alfredo and don’t have fettuccine noodles because your roommate is a prat.”

“Ugh! Harry, you know I hate  fettuccine!”

“Don’t be such a twat, Louis.”

“I’m getting spaghetti.”

“Well I’m getting fettuccine.”

They glared at each other angrily, boxes of pasta in their hands. Louis’ hair stood up on his arm. How could such a stupid argument actually make him feel that tingling sensation over his skin? How was he supposed to live his life when every single thing this boy did infuriated him and made him want to jump his bones? Louis watched Harry’s nostrils flair angrily, green eyes narrowing intensely, curls slipping into his vision. This was not supposed to happen.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his box into the basket. “We’ll get both.” 

He stuck his hand out to take the box from Harry’s large hand, but he evaded him, holding it out of his reach and stepping close, backing Louis into the shelves. The taller boy leaned over, whispering hot air onto Louis’ ear. 

“You’re whipped.”

The basket dropped with a loud crash, Louis’ hands gripping onto the front of Harry’s hoody, pulling their faces together swiftly. His mouth found Harry’s all too familiar one, sucking his lush bottom lip into his mouth and sliding his tongue along the warm, soft flesh of the inside. His hips jerked forward instinctually, brushing his groin against the boy’s in front of him. The pleasurable contact jolted his brain, reminding him that he was indeed sucking face with his male band member in the middle of the TESCO’s pasta aisle.

He squeaked and pulled his face back, slipping under Harry’s arm that was braced against the shelf by his head. He snatched the basket from the floor and scurried quickly toward the front of the store. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his face flushed as he felt Harry’s eyes on him, boring into him, undoubtedly staring at his ass. The air had become thick and tense somewhere between the pasta and the vegetables, Louis’ heart stuttering haphazardly in his chest. 

‘Just get to the cash register, get to people, stop thinking of his lips and his hands and his— no. Stop.’ He mentally chastised himself, shaking his head. He sucked in a relieved breath as he rounded the corner to the checkout, shuffling to the closest one and beginning to unpack the basket. The blonde girl behind the counter smiled at him sweetly and pulled his items across the scanner. 

“Hello,” she greeted. 

“Hi.” She didn’t seem to realize the tension in his body, or the trmbling in his hands.

“How are you today?”

“We’re fine, thanks.” Harry had appeared beside him, setting his box of pasta in the pile on the conveyor belt, smiling charmingly at the girl behind the counter, his eyes flashing only for a second. She blushed red.  It didn’t go unnoticed that they were famous, but they shopped at this particular store enough that the employees had learned to treat them as normal customers— or as normal as possible when your every move was watched by paparazzi and screaming fans. That didn’t stop her from turning red up to her ears at the sight of the two of them, conversing so casually with her. 

“Will that be all?” She batted her eyelashes at them. She was definitely a pretty girl, but a bit small and weak for Louis’ taste, her frame too thin and her face too delicate. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Harry answered for him, throwing his arm around his shoulders and squeezing. Louis’ heart raced further. 

‘You’re in public. You’re in public. You’re in public.’ He mentally chanted, collecting their groceries into a bag and smiling at the girl with slight strain that he hid with well-trained ease.

“Have a nice day!”

“You too,” both boys chorused, rushing away.

—-

They hadn’t even managed to get to the flat before Harry’s phone rang, Liam calling to tell them that they had a meeting with management and various other spontaneous responsibilities they hadn’t been aware of. Their horny needs were put on hold as they were dragged from place to place for hours. A fitting here, a small interview there, stupid little things that they should have been prepared for.

Louis’ eyes wandered to Harry at every meeting, raking over his body, trying to fight the urge that plagued him since that morning. Green eyes would flash to him often, eyebrows quirking and lips twitching in a smug smirk. It made Louis extremely frustrated knowing that the younger boy could see the power he held over him, but he couldn’t help himself. Memories of the rough fucking against walls — in the shower, in the public bathroom — flitted through his mind, the last making his breath hitch as they climbed out of the car to the building for their final meeting of the day with management for a quick discussion about their second album. 

Harry sat on the other side of the room from him when they entered, lounging lazily in a large armchair. Louis joined Niall and Zayn on the couch, Liam perched beside the darkest boy on the arm, leaning his back against the smooth white wall.

A woman in a tight purple dress and dark brown hair entered behind them, shutting the door and looking down at the open binder in her hand. Louis vaguely recognized her from a few other meetings they had about their upcoming album but her name escaped him. 

“Hello boys,” she greeted with an overly white smile. They returned the sentiment with false enthusiasm, not that she could tell. 

“So.” She looked down at her binder, licking her finger and turning a page before looking back up at them. “Some good news today. We’ve made a few changes to the album, but I think it’s definitely for the better. We are going to play on the group’s strengths with this one, instead of taking too many chances. With that being said, we’re adding another song written by Kelly Clarkson, since her last one went over so well.”

The boys nodded with smiles, that wasn’t bad at all. Kelly’s song was a great contribution to their last album, improving on the overall sound and mood of the songs as a unit.

“However,” she continued, setting her binder on the desk beside her and crossing her arms over her chest. “We have to remove a song if we want to add one. The company made an executive decision to remove ‘Hold It In.’”

A ripple of tension went through the air and Louis felt all of the eyes in the room turn toward him. His tongue felt dry and heavy, the moisture moving to his eyes, prickling them dangerously.

“Are you kidding me?!” An angry voice burst through the heavy silence. It wasn’t Louis’; he was far too shocked to manage sounds, let alone words or complete sentences. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Zayn, Liam, or Niall either. 

Harry sat up straight in his chair, eyebrows furrowed in anger, eyes blazing. His hands were balled in angry fists on his knees, and his eyes were narrowed dangerously at the woman in purple. She shifted away from him, looking physically pushed by the burning strength of his glare.

“No,” she said, almost like a question. 

Harry stood swiftly, pointing toward Louis, his entire arm outstretched in his direction.

“Did you know that that was the only song Louis actually had a solo in? Did you know that you stupid suits managed to cut every other solo he has ever had out of this album?” 

“Harry!” Liam’s mouth was open in shock, mirroring both Zayn and Niall. Harry ignored him, walking closer to the large desk the woman was pressed back against, fear flickering through her small eyes. 

“You say this is for the better? Do you think cutting his solo will improve the album? Do you even care that he has taken every single blow to his ego with a fucking grin on his face? He never once complained that he’s basically a backup singer. Not one fucking time, and now you expect us to let you take away the one tiny chance he had to establish himself? Really?!”

She was silent, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Harry was towering over her, face red and nostrils flaring. The air trembled with his anger, the boys on the couch stunned. None of them had ever argued with their management, not like this, not yelling and cursing. Yet here Harry was, nearly attacking the poor woman cowering against the desk; and for a boy he hated.

“Fuck this. No. If you cut that song, Louis better get a solo in the new one. Until then, we’re gone. Come on, Louis.” He turned on his heel and swept to the couch, grabbing Louis’ wrist and pulling him along behind him. The boy didn’t protest, letting himself be led, stunned by his actions.

Silence settled over the room once the boys had disappeared through the door, the rest of the band and the woman staring at it open mouthed. 

“What was that?” Zayn nearly whispered.

“Did Harry just—” Liam glanced at his bandmates, eyebrows furrowed. “Did he just stand up for Louis?”

Niall remained silent, staring at the door, remembering the two liplocked behind the scenes of an interview, hair ruffled and races red, Louis waddling slightly as he walk. Oh hell no. That was just wrong.

—-

The ride to their flat was silent, Harry staring out the window and glowering at the cars that passed, the sun dipping slowly beneath the horizon, hidden behind the tall buildings of London. Every so often a beam of orange light would flash over the younger boy’s strong features, casting haunting shadows over his face. He didn’t say anything when they climbed out of the car together, the other boys still back with their managers, undoubtedly doing a bit of damage control after Harry’s outburst. 

Louis didn’t understand it. Harry hated him, he had told him on multiple occasions, usually at least once a day. Sure it had become less frequent, but Louis assumed it was because now he never got the chance, too consumed with fucking him to bother to say it. Yet he had just torn apart one of their managers for something that affected almost no one but Louis himself. He had screamed at her for taking a solo away from the older boy, a solo that would most likely be given to him instead. It made Louis’s head hurt, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Harry wasn’t the ignorant, selfish prat he had always thought he was.

“Harry,” he finally spoke, closing the door to their flat behind him, eyes on the boy in front of him, his head hanging down and his shoulders slightly hunched. Louis reached out a hand but stopped, leaving it hovering in the air between them. “What the fuck was that?”

Harry spun around. Louis only had a split second to see his eyes flashing green before the boy’s large hands gripped his face and smashed their lips together. He could see his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his grip on Louis’s head pulling him closer. Fingers curled under the base of his skull, his ears cradled between the long digits. Harry breathed long and hard through his nose, pressing his tongue into Louis’ mouth, forcing his lips apart. 

They stumbled back against the door, Louis’ arms wrapping around to Harry’s back, pulling their bodies flush together. All Louis could think was how amazing Harry’s mouth felt against his own, how the low heat began to bubble and boil deep inside him, how there was too much fabric between them. 

His hands scrambled for the hem of Harry’s shirt, tugging it up, running his palms against the smooth sides of the boy’s body, not yet willing to separate their lips to tug it over his head. A moan escaped his throat and echoed against the walls of Harry’s hot, moist mouth. 

“Harry,” he mumbled against the boy’s lips. 

“No,” Harry mumbled back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, hands moving down Louis’ back to his thighs and pulling them up around his waist. “Shut up, Louis.”

His words lacked the usual spiteful bite, instead a mere frustrated and aroused growl. He dropped his head to Louis’ shoulder and bit the exposed skin of his neck, backing away from the door, heading further into the house, toward their bedrooms.

Louis’ heart beat faster in his chest as he clung to the larger boy. They had never had sex in the bedrooms, never on a bed. Bedrooms were off limits, their private places, places the other wasn’t allowed to enter and disturb. The air was thick as he tried to breath, every molecule smelling and tasting of Harry’s sweet scent, suffocating him. 

“Harry,” his voice squeaked again, his bedroom door opening behind him, Harry carrying him over the threshold.

“I said shut up, Louis,” Harry growled, dropping him violently down on his own bed, Louis bouncing slightly as he attempted to right himself on his messy covers. The taller boy removed his shirt hastily, struggling with the button on his trousers, face scrunched up in frustration. 

“Here,” Louis whispered, reaching out and undoing the clasp for him, pulling down both the trousers and boxers beneath in one sweep. Harry pushed him back against the covers, capturing his mouth again, hands yanking at his shirt and pushing it over his head. His body slid down the bed and gripped the bottom of Louis’ joggers in his hands, whipping them off in one fluid motion, reaching up to tug down his briefs.

Louis watched his face, eyebrows still furrowed and forehead creased. His eyes were dark and intense, but not like they usually were. His mouth was missing its usual smirk, he hadn’t swore at him or called him a whore or scratched him at all. This was wrong. This wasn’t Harry. It made Louis’ heart skip a beat, watching this other person, this person he didn’t know, crawl up the bed and hover above him, skin just millimeters from his own, tiny hairs brushing together. 

“Mine,” Harry whispered against his ear, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth. Louis shivered, goosebumps rising on his skin. There he was. This was his Harry.

A gasp escaped Louis’ throat as Harry rolled their hips together, watching the face below him contort in pleasure. He wedge himself between Louis’ thighs, pushing two fingers between Louis’ pink lips, the boy coating them in spit, heart rate increasing and skin prickling in anticipation of what he knew was about to happen. He waited, bracing himself for Harry to violently flip him on his stomach to face away from him as he always did, but it never came. Instead, Harry scraped his teeth along Louis’ tan chest to his naval, nipping at the top of the indent and pinching it in his teeth, sliding his wet finger inside of the slimmer boy.

Louis squeaked at the contact, startled more by the fact that Harry was burying his face in his stomach than the feeling of his finger inside of him. That he was used to, that burning pleasure was something he was familiar with, but Harry’s curls tickling the exposed skin of his chest? That was a completely new feeling. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, he didn’t know how to breath when there was no more air in the room. He didn’t know how to think as his mind went blank at the sight of Harry’s mouth against him, teeth scratching at his skin.

His hips rolled and thrust back against Harry’s fingers, his hands gripping the sheets hesitantly. Green eyes found his through luscious eyelashes, pupils blown wide and colour dark with lust. There was something swirling beneath the surface, something deep and instinctual, something dark and frightening. 

“Ahh—” Louis gasped in, mouth agape as Harry slid himself in roughly, blinking and looking at Louis’ chest, hands gripping his hips to keep him steady. 

The angle was so different, so new, that Louis whimpered, nearly sobbing at the burning ecstasy that seared through him as Harry continued to push in. 

“Oh fuck—”

“No,” Harry grumbled, bending down to bite into Louis’ neck again. “Don’t— don’t ruin it.”

Louis bit his lip firmly, heart swelling in his chest. What was this? This new side of Harry, with just enough of his Harry peeking through to remind him of all those other times, those amazing times, that Harry had fucked him senseless. This was all to different, too new. It set his skin on fire, burning in every place Harry’s skin touched his own. 

The boy’s fingers scraped up his sides, leaving harsh red marks in their wake. He pulled out slowly, Louis back arching and his hand flying to Harry’s hair, nails gripping into his scalp. 

When he slammed back in, it was anything but slow, anything but gentle. A cry of pain flew from Louis’ mouth, water pricking his eyes and legs wrapping around Harry’s slim waist. He gripped the sheets in one hand, Harry’s curls in the other, mouth alternating between panting — wide and open — and biting his bottom lip with violent force. High keens vibrated in the back of his throat, his chest covered by the sweaty body of the boy on top of him, skin rubbing against skin. 

It was too much, too fucking much, and he couldn’t take it. The feeling of Harry inside him, rubbing his flesh anew, and the feeling of his own erection rubbing between them, made him roll his eyes back in his head, dry pleasure-sobs cutting through the air. His body squirmed beneath the weight on top of him, unable to control it any longer. His muscles trembled as the hot, coiled pleasure became tight and dense low inside him. His skin felt too tight against his body, his lungs deflated, useless. 

Both hands flew to Harry’s skull, yanking at his hair, pulling his face from the crook of Louis’ neck. Green and blue combined in a swirl or ecstasy and sweet, sweet pleasure. The heat exploded from within them, burning the sheets, setting the bedroom alight with passion and anger and utter bliss.

Harry collapsed on top of him, both boys panting heavily in exhaustion. 

“Harry,” Louis whispered, hands relaxing in the younger boy’s hair. He felt him tense and shift up, slipping out of him and removing the weight from his chest. 

He brushed his hair from his forehead as he stood.

“Goodnight, Louis,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the flushed, sweaty boy sprawled across the sheets, chest heaving and mind reeling.


	6. Chapter 6

Louis stared blankly at his plate, his half-eaten breakfast gone cold. Across from him sat a full plate, untouched, waiting for Harry, who was very late to breakfast. Louis sighed, picking up both plates and dumping his uneaten food in the trash, while covering Harry’s and putting it in the fridge. He climbed up the stairs, not really knowing what to do with himself. He paused outside Harry’s door, unsure if he should knock or just go in. He took a deep breath, deciding to knock just in case Harry didn’t want him coming in for some reason.

“What do you want?” Harry’s voice croaked, breaking slightly on the last word. Louis’ eyebrows shot up, confused as to why Harry sounded upset.

“Uh… You didn’t come down for breakfast—are you alright?” He asked hesitantly.

“It’s not like you care,” Harry spat back bitterly, and Louis sighed again—he didn’t think he’d done that before he met Harry. Instead of answering his flat mate, he pushed the door open to reveal Harry still in bed, the only visible part of him a mop of unruly, curly hair peeking over the top of the covers. Louis approached the bed, stopping awkwardly at the edge and looking down at his band mate.

“That’s not an answer, Harry,” Louis told him softly, and Harry jumped, turning around to face Louis with red-rimmed eyes. Louis’ stomach dropped. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you,” Harry whispered, his eyes glittering with unshed tears, “I can’t—”

“Okay,” Louis answered, “That’s fine. Don’t tell me.”

“Will you—will you stay with me for a little while?” Harry mumbled, a blush rising to his cheeks. Louis was shocked by the request, as it was quite out of character for the other boy, and he paused a moment before nodding slowly. Harry was obviously hurting, and Louis was willing to—for one day—put aside their differences in order to help him. Louis pushed back the covers, sliding into the bed next to Harry, feeling a little awkward—it was weird that  _he_ was the one comforting Harry, and not one of the other boys. Harry watched him get comfortable with sad eyes, waiting for Louis to get settled. Once he was, Harry shimmied forward, ducking his head to rest against Louis’ chest, tucked under Louis’ chin. Louis froze, not sure what to do with Harry curled up against him. “This is the part where you put your arms around me, twat face.”

“Are you really insulting me right now?” Louis asked incredulously, wrapping his arms around him anyway, “I’m trying to help you—”

“I don’t want your help,” Harry told him, pressing his cold nose against Louis’ collar, “I want you to be quiet and hold me.”

“You’re going to have to tell me what this is about eventually,” Louis answered softly, staring blankly at the wall over Harry’s head, “I can’t really do anything for you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“I still hear talking,” Harry whined, “I’ll tell you later, but right now, Louis, please just  _shut up._ ”

Louis sighed again, but fell into silence. He felt Harry press closer, his leg coming up to hook around Louis’ hip, keeping him close. Harry’s breath ghosted over Louis’ collarbone as he exhaled heavily, Louis tensing further at the sensation.

“Would you  _please_  relax?” Harry huffed, the vibrations of his words echoing in Louis’ chest, “What is making you so tense? Jesus.”

“This is  _weird_ ,” Louis answered, immediately regretting his words as Harry stiffened in response, “I don’t mean it in an offensive way—it’s just that, well, we’re not that friendly… Or intimate. And this is both of those.”

“Is it bad?” Harry asked quietly, and Louis closed his eyes, his stomach twisting.

“I’m not sure,” he whispered back, “I don’t really know what to think.”

“Well, there’s your problem,” Harry responded, his tone still soft, “You should stop trying to think for once.”

“Does this really not freak you out?” Louis asked him, slightly hysterically, “You aren’t confused by this—this  _thing_ we’ve gotten into.”

“I try not to think about it,” Harry told him, “I try to focus more on what’s happening than what happened in the past. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“What have  _you_  got to worry about?” Louis muttered bitterly, “You’ve got the perfect life.”

“It’s far from perfect,” Harry rasped, and Louis was shocked to hear a whimper fall from Harry’s lips, “You don’t even know.”

“So tell me,” Louis pleaded, “Just tell me.”

“I—” Harry cut himself with a shuddering breath, curling further into Louis’ chest, “Six years ago today—it’s the anniversary of—my dad—” Harry’s voice broke, and he sobbed desperately, his tears rolling off his face and soaking into the skin of Louis’ chest. Louis wasn’t sure what to do—he wasn’t used to this Harry. He stroked absentminded patterns into Harry’s bare back, waiting for Harry’s cries to subside. “I’ve never—I’ve never been away—” he managed to stutter out before dissolving into tears again.

“Sh,” Louis hushed him, rubbing circles into the small of Harry’s back with one hand, while the other continued tracing patterns across his shoulder blades, “Take your time.”

“I’m always—I’m always  _home_  for this,” Harry wailed, his voice breaking as he mentioned home, “For the anniversary.”

“The anniversary of what, Harry?” Louis prodded gently, and Harry took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself.

“Of my dad’s death,” he managed shakily, before he lost it again. Louis paused his movements briefly as this information sunk in, before resuming them hastily. “I don’t know what to do—I don’t know how to  _cope_.”

“Well,” Louis started, moving his hand up to tangle in Harry’s curls, “I think a good thing to do is shower—you’ll feel a little better when you’re clean, yeah?”

“Will you come with me?” Harry asked, his voice childishly vulnerable, “I don’t want to be left alone.”

“Yeah,” Louis answered, sitting them both up, “Come on, then.”

Louis gently guided Harry toward the bathroom, the younger boy following quietly. It was weird for Louis, being around this Harry—this vulnerable, sad, quiet Harry. He wasn’t sure he liked it—he  _didn’t_  like it. Harry was supposed to be loud, and arrogant, and in control. Louis wasn’t supposed to be in control. Harry watched him silently as he pulled his shirt off, then shucked his pants. They stood there, watching each other, in only their boxers, before Louis sighed, moving forward and pulling Harry’s off for him. Harry should have been the one undressing him.

He turned the shower on, waiting for the water to heat up, before stepping back and pulling Harry forward. Harry climbed into the shower, turning around to look at Louis, who climbed in after him. They watched each other for another, slightly awkward, moment.

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t stop thinking,” Harry told him, his eyes tired and sad. Louis nodded, pushing thoughts of how things should be out of his head.

“You’re right,” Louis sighed, “It’s just hard for me.”

“Doesn’t look it,” Harry quipped, his eyes flashing briefly with mirth before dulling again, as he glanced down at Louis’ soft cock. Louis smiled, unable to help himself.

“Very funny,” he teased, suddenly more at ease. His Harry was still in there—he’d be back, Louis just had to help him. “Alright,” Louis clapped his hands, “Hair first.”

“Can you do it?” Harry asked, his eyes pleading with Louis, “I like having other people’s hands in my hair.”

“You realize that this is a one time thing, right?” Louis said pointedly, Harry nodding in response, “Alright, fine. Sit down in front of me—you’re too tall.”

Harry did as he was told, settling down in front of Louis and leaning against his legs as Louis reached up and got the shampoo. They sat in silence as Louis carefully massaged Harry’s hair, first with shampoo, then with conditioner. Louis didn’t say anything when Harry shuddered against his leg, and his breathing started coming in heavy gasps. Harry’s breath hitched as he tried to keep himself together, not wanting Louis to know he was crying again, but unable to hold it in. The grief expanded in his chest, snapping like a rubber band around his lungs, constricting his breathing. Helpless against it, he brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them tightly. He bit his lip trying in vain to keep the sobs in, before he broke again, burying his face in his knees. His shoulders shook violently as he cried, his soaked curls flopping over his face.

Louis looked down at him sadly, unsure what to do. He let his hands slip from Harry’s hair, trailing down his neck to rest on his shoulders. He slid down the wall, settling behind Harry and pushing his thumbs into the muscles of Harry’s neck, rubbing small circles into the flesh. He scooted forward, so he was pressed up against Harry’s back, his legs curling around Harry’s and resting against the walls of the tub.

“Harry,” Louis whispered, smoothing the soaked curls away from Harry’s neck, “Come on, love, don’t cry.”

“I c-can’t help it,” Harry wailed, “I miss him—and I m-miss  _home_.”

“You’re alright,” Louis told him softly, pressing a kiss to Harry’s damp neck, “It’ll be okay, Harry.”

Harry didn’t answer him, merely shuddering again as sobs continued to tumble from his mouth. Louis moved his hands down, wrapping them around Harry’s waist and resting his cheek against Harry’s shoulder blade. He listened quietly as Harry’s sobs slowed, his breathing evening out under Louis’ hands.

“Are you ready to get out?” Louis asked, not moving from his position draped across Harry’s back. He felt Harry take a shaky breath underneath him.

“Yeah,” Harry answered softly, his voice raspy. Louis sat up, bringing his legs back awkwardly, and standing up. Harry did the same, turning the water off silently. The two of them stepped out of the tub, drying off, and slipping back into their boxers.

“To clothes,” Louis said, looking up at the nearly naked Harry standing next to him, “Or not to clothes?”

“Not to clothes,” Harry answered with a weak smile, and Louis nodded, leading him out of the bathroom.

“Shall we watch a movie?” Louis suggested, already moving towards the living room.

“Can—can we watch Bambi?” Harry asked tentatively, “I always watch it with my mum.”

“Sure,” Louis smiled at him, going over to the DVDs as Harry perched on the couch, fiddling with his hands. He watched as the fabric of Louis’ boxers stretched obscenely across his ass—even in his sadness, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate Louis’ bum. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away as Louis came back over to the couch with the remotes. Louis settled against the armrest of the sofa, sprawling out on his back so his left leg hooked over the back of the couch and his right sat precariously on the edge of the seat. Harry watched him as Louis watched the screen, waiting for the DVD menu to come up so he could press play. Harry’s leg started moving restlessly, nervous energy flooding through him as he watched his flat mate with itching skin. Finally giving into his need to be held, Harry crawled into Louis’ lap, draping himself across his chest, and turning his head into the crook of Louis’ neck so he could still see the TV. He felt Louis stiffen breifly beneath his stomach, and he waited with bated breath for his band mate to relax. His heart pounded against his ribcage, nerves on end as he pleaded with Louis in his mind to let him do this.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Louis muscles released their tension, and his leg came down from its position over the back of the couch to hook over Harry’s thighs. His other leg straightened out to rest against Harry’s and his left arm wrapped around Harry’s back. Harry released the breath he had been holding, settling himself more against Louis’ chest.

As the movie progressed, Harry continued to get drowsier, his eyes drooping slightly as his vision blurred. He stifled a yawn, trying to keep his focus on Bambi and Faline as they danced around each other in the meadow, but his brain was faltering. He was warm, and comfortable, and the sadness had retreated to the back of his brain for the moment. All the crying he had done, combined with the position he was in, made him powerless against the sleep that clouded his periphery. His breathing evened out, his eyes slipped shut, and his body went slack against Louis’ chest.

Louis looked down awkwardly, craning his neck slightly to get a look at Harry’s face. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Harry was much less threatening when he was asleep, all the lines in his face smoothing out to make him look peaceful and childish. It was a nice change from all the sadness that had been marring his features for the first half of the day. He turned back to the movie, watching without taking it in as he felt Harry shift slightly, pressing his face closer into Louis’ neck. His hair, consequently, fell into Louis’ face, curling up over his chin and tickling his lips.

Louis reached down, pushing it out of the way. His hand, however, moved on its own, smoothing the hair back off Harry’s forehead repeatedly, while his other climbed up and tangled in the soft strands at the base of Harry’s head. He twisted them around his fingers, scraping his nails lightly along Harry’s scalp as he went. He turned to look at the side of Harry’s head that he could see, the movie forgotten on the other side of the room. His fingers dragged the hair off Harry’s ear, tucking it behind it. Almost absentmindedly, he bent down to press a light kiss to the ear.

Harry sighed, stirring slightly, as soft kisses were pressed repeatedly to his skin. There were hands in his hair, and lips on his face, and he just felt warm and content. His eyes fluttered open and he shifted slightly so his head was resting more on Louis’ chest than his neck, and turned his face up, still half asleep.

Louis watched him awkwardly from his position above him, his hands resuming their movements after having stilled with Harry’s stirring. Harry’s mouth was so close to his—he’d only have to lean forward a few inches. So he did, barely realizing what he was doing as he pushed his lips over Harry’s. Harry, still not quite awake, lifted his head up off Louis’ chest to get a better angle. Louis’ fingers curled around the base of Harry’s skull, cupping his cheeks as Harry pushed himself up onto his hands, his knees falling to straddle Louis’ hips. Louis didn’t register the change, merely turning his head to get a better angle and accepting Harry’s tongue into his mouth.

“Louis,” Harry panted, pulling away for a moment to look into Louis’ eyes, “I need you to  _touch_  me.”

“You want me to—” Louis was cut off by Harry’s mouth pressing insistently to his, a moan escaping his mouth, “What do you—what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Harry told him, looking embarrassed, “I just—I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Louis nodded, his hands slipping down Harry’s chest, “Okay.”

And with that they fell silent, Harry’s mouth claiming Louis’ once again. Louis’ hands continued trailing down Harry’s body, stopping breifly to toy with his nipples, before moving down further and settling on the waistband of his boxers. He nudged the younger boy, carefully flipping them so he was on top, before pulling Harry’s boxers clean off. He watched Harry for any signs that he wanted him to stop, before hesitantly taking Harry into his hands. Harry let out a long, drawn out moan that ricocheted off the walls and landed in Louis’ groin. He continued to pump Harry’s erection, twisting and flicking his wrist in ways that made Harry writhe beneath him.

“C-close,” Harry choked out, “Stop—I want to come inside you.”

Louis pulled his hand back, groaning in response to the whine that escaped Harry’s mouth at the loss of contact. Louis hastily shucked his boxers, climbing up so he was straddling Harry’s hips. He spit into his hand, giving Harry a few more pumps, before guiding himself onto Harry. He couldn’t contain the moan that tore from his throat as he took Harry in, inch by inch. Once he was settled, sitting on Harry’s dick, he opened his eyes, looking into Harry’s flushed face. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, leaning up as Louis leant down to join their lips in a searing kiss.

Not breaking their contact, Louis carefully lifted himself up, and then impaled himself on Harry once again. The sound that left Harry’s mouth was hardly human—half growl, half cry of arousal—and it went straight to Louis’ already aching erection.

It didn’t take long for them to finsh, grinding and biting and kissing frantically as Louis splattered over their stomachs, Harry shooting deep inside Louis and arching off the couch. Louis collapsed across him, not bothering to pull off of him. Harry sighed, wrapping his arms around Louis and gently easing out of him.

“Thank you for staying with me today,” he mumbled into Louis’ neck. Louis paused, looking at him strangely for a moment before the smallest of smiles graced his features.

“You’re welcome, Harry,” he answered.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey twat, toss me my jacket, will you?” 

Louis paused by the coat rack on his way out the door. He wasn’t sure what he had expected after Harry’s breakdown the other day — would everything change? would they be tolerant of each other now? — but he should have known it would go right back to how it had been before. Harry was being, as always, a complete dick. 

He smacked Louis’ ass while he was in the kitchen, he took the remote for the television out of his hands and turned the channel, he ate the last of the bread and didn’t bother to tell him; all of the little things that bothered a Louis to no end. 

The worst part was, it didn’t go back to the way it had been the day before the breakdown, or even the way it was a few days before the breakdown. Harry’s attitude had somehow morphed all the way back to what it had been like right when the whole ordeal started. He was possessive, and rude, and inconsiderate, and it made Louis want to scream and pull his hair out.

He wasn’t sure he liked the vulnerable Harry he had seen on the anniversary of the death of his father, but he didn’t like this asshole he was forced to live with either. And while he knew he didn’t  _like_  either of those versions of Harry, and knew he didn’t  _like_  Harry at all, that seemed to be just about all he knew where emotions were involved. His mind was constantly reeling, even when Harry was a prat, he could feel more emotions running through him than pure hatred and annoyance like before. It was tainted with something… warmer. Not hotter, per say, but warmer. He would get flickers of things he had never felt before, and it scared him shitless. He couldn’t stand the thought of being so clueless and vulnerable around the one person who made him that way, and the one person most likely to take advantage of it.

“Here,” he grumbled, throwing the coat to Harry’s outstretched hand with a scowl.

“Unbunch your face there, sweetcheeks, you’re gonna get wrinkles.” Harry smirked, slipping his arms through his sleeves and adjusting the collar of the coat around his neck. “Though, if you need help with the wrinkles, I know of a pretty easy solution.”

He lifted his eyebrows and swept past Louis and outside. Louis glared after him, closing the door and locking it before following behind. 

“Oh yeah?” He said, his tone mocking and dripping with evident sarcasm.

“Oh yeah.” Harry lifted his eyebrows in false innocence and blinked twice. “I hear spunk does wonders for the skin, no wonder you’re looking so youthful.”

“Fuck off, Styles.” He climbed up into the passengers side of Harry’s Range Rover, pulling his seat belt over him and clicking it closed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out the window.

“Aww, I knew you’d care about the wrinkles,” Harry’s face was innocent and malevolant at the same time. Louis wasn’t sure how he managed, but it was Harry Styles, after all, the world’s biggest douche bag. “And if you insist, babe.”

Louis rolled his eyes as Harry made a show of unbuttoning his pants, and shifted his body further away to face the window.

“Don’t be so pissy,” Harry said, starting the car with a turn of the key. 

“I’m not being pissy,” he grumbled.

“Louis, you’re crossing your arms, grumbling, and refusing to look at me. Pretty sure that’s the definition of pissy.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the definition of prick and I try not to associate with them.”

“We’re fucking, Louis. I think it’s safe to say that’s more than ‘association’.” 

“I said I try, I didn’t say I was successful.” Louis could feel Harry glancing at him, even as they drove through the city to the restaurant where the other boys were already waiting. He knew he shouldn’t enjoy it, and he kind of didn’t, but he kind of did. It pissed him off that Harry was risking their safety to look at him, it just went to show how irresponsible and immature he was. But then again, it made his heart thump a little too loudly in his chest from this weird emotion that kept popping up out of nowhere. One minute he would be content with being angry and frustrated and nearly hating Harry, and the next his heart would swell at the sight of Harry’s eyes on him and how close his hand was to his knee as it rested on the gear-shaft of the car. Everything about this… thing… that they had going on confused him.

“You don’t try.” Harry’s eyes were on him again. He could feel them boring into his head and he fought the urge to turn around.

“Eyes on the road, dipshit.” 

His own eyes shifted to the side, too subtly for Harry to see, but enough for him to notice Harry’s brow furrow slightly as he turned his eyes back on the road. The look was gone in a second, barely there long enough for Louis to be sure he even saw it at all.

“I told you you were being pissy.”

It took everything Louis had to stay calm. His blood pounded in his ears and his face was red and hot. He clenched his jaw hard and glared ahead, the parking garage of the restaurant loomed ahead and he focused on the thought of the boys. He would sit between Zayn and Niall and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything. 

The younger boy pulled up to the barrier and rolled down his window, pushed the button on the box and retrieving their ticket. He leaned back in and held the card out between his middle and index finger. Louis took it from him without looking, eyes trained on the cars parked along the walls as they drove passed. 

“Don’t lose that,” Harry said, turning the corner and glancing at him. Louis rolled his eyes but stayed silent. He was determined to hold back, he wouldn’t give Harry the satisfaction of messing with him whenever he wanted. 

The car turned into the parking space smoothly, the engine humming for a brief moment as Harry adjusted into park, Louis unbuckling and jumping out of the car before the keys could be removed. He walked to the lift, shoving his thumb against the the button on the wall, the doors opening automatically. Harry squeezed through the them, just as they began to close.

“Fuck, Louis you could’ve waited.”

Louis didn’t respond. He pressed the number 5 a few more times with the tip of his forefinger, breathing deeply and turning the ticket over in his hand.

“And don’t bloody drop that ticket. Put it is your pocket or something, you twat.”

Again, Louis remained silent. He breathed deeply through his nose, closing his eyes and trying to quiet the pounding blood in his ears. He willed the heat in his face to disapate and the tense, jumping nerve in his jaw to still. He could almost feel alone, the only sounds his own; his heartbeat, his breath, the flicking of the card in his fingers—

A rough hand hit his own, releasing his grip on the piece of paper and sending it spiraling to the floor. His eyes shot open, but again, using every ounce of restraint he had, he held back from punching Harry in the face, from screaming at the top of his lungs, from jumping onto the smirking boy beside him. Instead, Louis simply bent over and retrieved the ticket from the ground, shoving it in his pocket.

“God DAMMIT Louis!” Harry yelled, hands pushing into his curls and gripping them. Louis turned his head to look at him just as he charged, emerald eyes blazing. “Fucking REACT to me! SHIT! I just need you to fucking— FUCK!”

His hand lashed out and Louis flinched. Harry had never hit him before, not like that. He had never hurt him physically out of such a pure anger, it sent Louis’ heart beating painfully in his chest, his brain screaming for retreat, but he was trapped. Harry’s hand sailed passed him, punching the stop button on the lift’s control panel. His other tangled itself in Louis’ hair, pulling the older boy’s lips onto his own. 

Louis’ mind exploded and his skin burned. He grabbed onto the front of Harry’s shirt, pulling him close, pressing their bodies completely together, their legs tangled and their chests flushed. His mouth opened, allowing Harry’s tongue in to lick over his. He could feel the familiar scratch of Harry’s chin and the mot, moistness of his mouth. It felt like home, familiar and comforting, but wild and risky and forbidden at the same time.

The air around them spun, the oxygen disappearing from their small space as Harry pushed them back so Louis leaned against the wall of the lift. The taller boy released his lips, pressing his mouth against Louis’ neck and biting, grabbing the back of his thighs with his large hands and lifting them up and around his waist in one solid movement.

“Fucking react to me, Tomlinson,” he growled into Louis’ bruising skin. It sent a shiver down Louis spine, the deep, raspy voice vibrating against his flesh. 

“I don’t know how.” His last word faded into a moan as Harry rolled their hips together, his pants growing uncomfortably tight. Harry bit him again, causing him to gasp, pressing their bodies closer together and tangling one hand in Harry’s long hair. Louis was trapped between the hard wall of the lift — vibrating with electricity as it hung suspended high above the ground — and the hot, firm body that made his breath hitch with every touch. 

“Yell at me or hit me or — fuck—” Harry cut himself off. His hand dove between them, palming against the bulge in Louis’ trousers and fighting with the zipper. He rested his forehead against Louis’s shoulder, supporting him with his legs as he used both hands to undo the button. His long fingers fumbled quickly until he succeeded, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist to keep him off the ground as he pulled the smaller boy’s trousers down. “Just— notice me.”

Louis let out a whine, Harry’s rough jeans rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his erection. He wasn’t sure whether the noise was from the sensation, or from the twinge in his heart at Harry’s words. 

Notice him? How could he not notice him? Louis thought about him all the time. Every thought could be traced back to Harry, every fucking confusing emotion stemmed from the younger boy’s actions. It wasn’t possible for Louis to notice him any more than he did. 

He gasped again, mind going slightly numb and his contemplations forgotten for the brief moment Harry rubbed his own, jean clad pelvis against Louis’ bare one.

“Too many clothes,” he managed to mumble out, untangling his hands from Harry’s hair and shirt to pull at his trousers. Harry didn’t help him. He latched onto Louis’ neck, sucking and biting at the flesh, his hands gripping Louis’ thighs tightly. He was mumbling against Louis skin, indistinguishable words branding its flaming surface. Every vibration caused a wave through his nerves, shocking his brain into a blissful state of barrenness.

He could feel Harry, and Harry’s voice and Harry’s smell and Harry’s skin. The familiarity of their situation made his heart skip and jump too erratically to be healthy. He was becoming a medical phenomenon; the boy with the strange, rarely beating heart. 

Louis’s hands succeeded, pushing Harry’s trousers down and gripping the back of his head, pulling it away from his neck to look at him.

“Fuck me, Harry.”

There was a brief second, a second where time seemed to still, nearly stop, where the only movement was the rise and fall of their chests and the swirling of Harry’s eyes, where the only sound was their quick breaths in and out bouncing off the dull metal walls of the parking garage lift. Louis’ lungs contracted, forcing a small squeak of air from his throat, breaking the silence. Harry mouth surged to his own, covering it with the harsh forcefullness off obvious need and sexual frustration. His bottom lip was sucked into Harry’s mouth and the boy’s teeth pressed into his flesh.

“Gladly,” Harry said against his mouth. 

Louis latched onto the fingers offered him, sucking on them and coating them in as much spit as possible before Harry removed them and began to push them into him without warning. The older boy’s head leaned back against the wall and his fingers dug into the back of Harry’s skull, fingers tangled with the boy’s curls, pulling at them as he hissed, the slow burn of the fingers making his insides clench in anticipation.

“Perfect,” Harry mumbled against the other side of Louis’ neck, the side free of the ungodly bruises and marks where Harry had claimed him. Free of the love-bites that showed who he belonged to. The long, slender fingers shifted inside, brushing his walls and scissoring him wider and wider, preparing him, but they were gone too soon. Louis whined at the emptiness, rolling his hips to brush his erection against the fabric of Harry’s shirt. He briefly wondered if there would be evidence left on their clothing, enough that the boys would wonder, but the moment was short, cut off by the feeling of Harry’s dick against him, lining up.

“G-go.” Louis shuddered, whispering against Harry’s ear. “AHH!”

He cried out as Harry thrust and pulled him down simuntaneously, biting down hard against Louis’ shoulder and digging his fingers into Louis’ thighs. There was a pain that burned briefly while a spike of pleasure shot through Louis’ entire body like a bolt of electricity. His arms pulled Harry even closer, his legs squeezing tighter, his whole body aching to feel every inch of the other so close to him. But it was as if he couldn’t get close enough, like there was always some piece he wasn’t pulling into him. He had Harry wrapped in his body, but there was a piece missing, a piece Louis had never felt before.

“So. Fucking. Perfect.” Harry ecsentuated every word with a thrust of his hips, burying himself in Louis over and over. “Always. Perfect. All the. Fucking. Time.

“Harry!” Louis didn’t know if he was yelling for Harry to stop talking, or to keep going, but he knew that air in the lift was getting too hot, he felt like he was on fire. He knew that there was no longer enough oxygen to breathe because each gulp of useless air his lungs tried to take in did nothing to clear his head or rid it from the dizzy, aching feeling.

The metal wall began to slip behind him as he was pounded into repeatedly, his eyes searching for the right place to rest but only falling on Harry. Harry with his messy hair and the sweat forming on his brow and upper lip. Louis cried out as Harry shifted his feet, thrusting again and hitting his prostate hard, sending him jerking up and causing his walls to squeeze. Harry let out a loud grunt, thrusting faster.

“Shit, Harry—” Louis clawed at the boy’s broad back for perchase, hiking up his shirt and rubbing his hands down against the burning skin beneath them. He could feel the trembling of Harry’s muscles, as well as his own, and keened loudly when Harry’s hand squeezed his dick roughly. 

His eyes found Harry’s, such a dark green with the pupils blown from arousal. Something clicked in his body, like a person flicking a switch on a vacuum cleaner, and all the air was ripped from his lungs. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his skin tightened around him and exploded outwards, coming all over Harry’s hand and his own shirt.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck—” Harry panted, continuing to thrust as Louis’ walls clenched around him sporadically. “Louis—I—”

Louis squeezed. His entire body wrapped around Harry’s and he embraced him in a hug nearly so complete that he forgot where he ended and Harry began. His brain was blank but for his overwhelming need to /feel/ Harry against him, every part of him.

“FUCK.” Harry came inside him, jerking against him and leaning heavily against his body, both of them supported by the scorching heat of the metal wall. 

They panted, bodies entangled for a moment. Harry had one hand gripping under Louis’ thigh while the other braced him against the wall by the other boy’s head. Louis began to loosen his hold, allowing Harry to slip out of him and lower him to the ground.

“My shirt…” Louis looked down at the splatter of white covering his front side, impossible to hide. He glanced at Harry, who was smirking. “The lads are not going to let this go, and I can’t go out in public with this…”

He frowned, slightly, trying to wipe the cum off, but merely serving to spread it further. Harry wiped the cum from his hand onto the shirt, much to Louis’ dismay, but pulled at the hem, tugging it over the slim boy’s body, leaving him completely naked and standing in a parking garage lift, staring at the man who had just fucked him.

“I’ve got a jumper in the car,” Harry’s voice rumbled through the lift, bouncing off the walls and back to their ears. He pulled his pants up, Louis following suit, and shrugged. “We’ll grab it before we see the boys.”

Louis nodded. 

Harry reached out one hand, leaning forward towards Louis, and pressed the ‘B’ to return them to the floor where their car, and the clean jumper, sat waiting. The lurch of the elevator made Louis’ stomach flop precariously, his head still dizzy and heavy. Neither boy said anything on the ride down, or the short walk to the car where Harry leaned over the back seat to fish out the slightly rumpled jumper that was slight large on Louis’ smaller frame. It wasn’t until they were in the lift again, going up, and this time not stopping, that Louis finally opened his mouth.

“I do notice you, Harry. I ignore you on purpose.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak when the door made a small ding and opened, a woman stepping in beside them with a smile.

“Which floor?” Louis asked politely.

“Six, please,” she answered.

There were two more floors of awkward silence, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. It was a relief to step out, both boys breathing deep once they were free of the restraints that had seemed so welcome before, when things were hot and easy and good. Harry turned to Louis, looking like he was about to speak, when they were once again interrupted.

“Louis! Harry!” Liam waved them over, the three boys standing patiently in front of the door to the restaurant. The two newcomers walked over, faces blank, void of all evidence of what had recently transpired between them. “What took you guys so long?”

“Louis had to change his shirt,” Harry shrugged.

“Into /that/, mate?” Zayn looked at Louis with one eyebrow raised. 

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of time, or anything to chose from,” Louis said.

“Harry,” Liam said, voice slightly puzzled.

“Yeah, Liam?” 

“You’ve got, uh, you’ve got some—”

“Holy shit, Haz! You’ve got jizz on your shirt!” Zayn covered his mouth with his hand, as did Liam, both attempting —and failing— to stifle laughter. Niall didn’t. His blue eyes glanced from Louis to Harry in confusion and surprise.

“You didn’t—?” He whispered.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry grinned, slinging his arm over Niall’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get some food.”


	8. Chapter 8

It was dark when the five boys left the restaurant, the sun having set roughly an hour prior to their departure. They wandered into the car park, all with full bellies and light hearts as they messed around. It was mostly empty in the covered lot, only a smattering of people walking to their cars after a night out. They boys went mostly unnoticed, and not noticing others themselves, too wrapped up in each other. Their boisterous conversation covered up the sounds of a camera, the soft click sounding quietly from behind cars as the lone pap followed them stealthily on their way to the car.

  
  


A group of boys stood, leaning against a car not too far away from Harry’s own. Clearly inhibited, the group shouted and laughed as the One Direction boys approached, one of them even moving forward for a closer look.

  
  


“Hey, hey, hey, look what we have here: One Direction’s resident faggot,” a nasty sneer curved on the boy’s face, his eyes glinting in the darkness of the parking lot. His friends laughed cruelly around him, faces hidden by the shadow cast by their hoodies.

Louis rolled his eyes, fighting the blush that was rising in his cheeks, and continued walking. Harry, next to him, stopped, turning slowly to face the gang behind them. The other boys paused once they realized Harry was lagging behind, confused looks on their faces as they watched their friend.

“Excuse me?” Harry’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes holding the gaze of the boy who had spoken, “What did you just call him?”

“Oh, I forgot,” the boy grinned without humor, eyes dancing with malicious intent, “you two are butt buddies. You like making him scream? I bet he’s a right tiger, isn’t he?”

“Shut up,” Harry growled, his hands curling into fists at his sides, “You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

“Sweet,” the boy simpered sarcastically, batting his eyelashes in a poor imitation of adoration, “protecting his boyfriend’s honor. Get me a bucket.”

“He’s got more honor than you,” Harry retorted, eyes shimmering with repressed fury, “only woman that’ll ever love you is your mother—and I’d be willing to bet my house that even she’s rejected your ugly mug.”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” the boy snarled, and Harry took a quiet moment to relish the small victory—it seemed he’d struck a chord, “let’s be honest here—he can’t get a woman, can he? Your little boyfriend? He’s a cock-sucking faggot, no woman would want him.”

“I told you not to talk about him like that,” Harry ground out, unable to stop himself this time as his fist swung out and landed squarely on the boy’s jaw. The crack echoed ominously off the walls of the car park, all the boys in the room stunned by Harry’s actions. The boy spat at Louis’ feet, leering nastily as he wiped blood off his face.

“You must be one hell of a fuck,” he commented, almost conversationally. In that moment, Harry saw red, lunging at the boy and knocking him to the dirty pavement. They struggled for a moment, the boy gaining the upper hand briefly as he slammed Harry flat on his back, forcing the air from Harry’s lungs and rendering him immobile for the shortest of moments.

The boy took Harry’s temporary disability for what it was, his knuckles meeting Harry’s nose with a sickening crack, Harry’s cry of pain jolting Louis out of his stunned state. He yelped as Harry rolled the boy over again, straddling his hips and driving the heel of his hand into the boy’s own nose, gasping as the boy retaliated with an elbow to Harry’s eye.

Louis surged forward, clutching desperately at Harry’s shirt, tugging and pulling him off of the boy he was intent on destroying.

“Harry—Harry,  _please_. It’s not worth it, stop—let go, Harry— _please_ ,” Louis’ voice broke the tense air frantically, and Harry paused as his words sunk in. His brain whispered to him to listen to Louis, that Louis was hurting even though he wasn’t hurt, that it was Harry’s job to stop him from hurting.

So he stood up, wiping blood from under his nose, and allowed Louis to lead him away from the bleeding boy on the floor. The boy’s friends rushed to his side, pulling him to his feet, and scrambling away, shouting incoherently as they went. The One Direction boys watched them go, stilled stunned at what had just happened.

Louis turned to Harry, his eyes skittering worriedly over his face as he catalogued his injuries. His hands fluttered as well, gently and tactilely taking in the damage. They came to rest on Harry’s face, cupping his jaw carefully, thumbs caressing under Harry’s good eye with reserved concern.

“We should get you home,” he whispered, eyes not moving from Harry’s, “we need to make sure you’re alright.”

“Okay,” Harry croaked, equally softly. Louis’ hands swept slowly down, over his neck, across his shoulders, down his arms, to stop at his hands. He grasped them timidly, as if unsure if he was overstepping boundaries, but Harry made no move to stop him.

“I’ll drive,” Louis murmured, tugging gently on Harry’s hands and leading him towards the car. The three other boys watched them go with confused faces, minds blank as they observed the affection with which the supposed enemies were treating each other. They watched the car drive off, and exchanged meaningful glances, tucking a mental note into the back of their minds to have a word with them later.

*~*~*~*

Upon arriving home, Louis left Harry at the door, hurrying upstairs to run a bath. Harry removed his shoes carefully, his mind free of all thought as he moved on autopilot. He wasn’t sure how this would affect his and Louis’ relationship, but so far Louis hadn’t complained. Hopefully, it would continue that way.

He trudged upstairs, his limbs feeling heavy as he walked, his footfalls sounding loud and clumsy to his ears. He turned toward the sound of running water, pushing the door open to see Louis kneeling by the tub. He closed the door, walking over to his—friend? Lover?—to kneel beside him. Louis looked up, eyes soft in the incandescent light of the overhead lamp, and reached out for Harry.

Harry let himself be undressed, relishing in the feel of soft hands ghosting over his skin, goose bumps prickling where Louis’ fingers touched. He returned the favor, taking his time to peel back each article of clothing bit by bit, as though unwrapping an expensive and highly anticipated gift. Harry’s over-large jumper hit the floor, leaving Louis bare-chested and exposed to the humid air of the bathroom. Harry paused, eying the waistband of Louis’ trousers as he considered what he was about to do next.

Throwing all caution to the wind, he leaned forward, nosing carefully along the line of Louis’ trousers, ignoring as his nose twinged in protest. His tongue crept out of its own accord, licking a stripe across Louis’ abdomen just above his waistband. Louis’ breath hitched above him, which Harry took as permission to continue. He paused at a spot perpendicular to Louis’ navel, pressing a kiss to the sparse patch of hair, before opening his mouth to suck a hickey into the skin. Louis groaned, his hands finding Harry’s hair, fingers tangling in the strands.

Harry finally let his own fingers curl around the top of Louis’ trousers, popping the button without moving his head, and slowly drew down the zipper. He smirked against Louis’ waist as a bump nudged his fingers, alerting him of Louis’ arousal. He tugged Louis’ trousers around his ankles, the cloth hitting the floor with a soft thump.

Harry let his eyelids flutter closed, the lashes brushing ever so lightly against Louis’ skin. He tilted his head, dragging his tongue across the waistband of Louis’ boxers. Louis whimpered above him, pulling Harry’s head away from his abdomen gently. Harry gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, daring him to protest. Louis paused, seeming to have an internal struggle with himself, before groaning lowly and pushing Harry’s head back against his stomach.

Harry smirked against Louis’ skin, opening his mouth and dragging his lips down across it, pausing briefly at the top of Louis’ boxers, drawing the fabric into his mouth and pulling it down with his teeth. Louis’ breath hitched and the muscles of his abdomen jumped under Harry’s lips as the fabric landed on tops of Louis’ trousers. Louis’ erection nudged the underside of Harry’s chin obscenely, and Harry chuckled quietly into his lover’s skin.

Louis let out a shocked whine as Harry’s tongue slid across his member, his knees going weak from the sudden move. Harry shuffled him back, pushing him against the moist bathroom wall where Louis’ hands scrabbled for purchase and, upon finding none, came to twine once again in Harry’s hair, fingers twisting and tangling among the tousled locks.

Harry groaned, taking this as permission to wrap his mouth around Louis’ cock. A startled yelp tore itself from Louis’ throat as Harry sank slowly down, breathing through his nose and keeping his throat relaxed so as not to trigger his gag reflex. Louis sank bonelessly against the wall, hands tight in Harry’s hair as Harry stopped, took a deep breath and then sucked back up, sucking particularly hard on the head of Louis’ cock. Louis keened, his knees falling apart to allow Harry more room, Harry’s large hands wrapped around his thighs to keep him upright.

Harry’s hand snuck around, curling a finger into Louis while he was distracted by Harry’s mouth. The duel sensation ripped another groan from Louis’ mouth, hips bucking slightly as he fought to remain in control of his body. Harry slipped another finger in, slurping around Louis’ cock and delightedly drawing more sounds from the prone boy’s mouth as he did so.

Once he had three fingers thrusting inside Louis, Harry pulled off his cock, licking a parting stripe up the side as he did so. He removed his fingers, gazing at the panting, wanton boy in front of him as desire and lust burned fiercely under his skin. His stomach twisted, affection unbidden churning in it as he hiked Louis up around his waist like a belt, hands braced under his lover’s thighs as his cock nudged his entrance.

“Fuck,” he breathed against Louis’ neck as he slid in, “Oh  _fuck_.”

“Come on, come on, come on,” Louis chanted, thrusting down eagerly, “You’re such a tease, come  _on._ ”

Harry grunted, thrusting in all the way, his pelvis meeting Louis’ with a short jerk of his hips. They both moaned, Louis arching up off the wall to grind his hips down into Harry’s. Harry pressed his open mouth to Louis’ neck as he thrust into him, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried desperately to focus on the physical release rather than the adoration swelling in his chest.  _No,_  he thought,  _not now, please._

Louis cried out as Harry hit a different angle, his sobs of pleasure echoing off the bathroom walls as Harry continued to pound into his over sensitized body. After being worked up by Harry’s mouth, it wasn’t taking long to bring him to the edge. He let out another moan of warning before splattering all over his and Harry’s stomachs, clenching involuntarily around Harry as he came inside him.

Harry slowed down, panting against Louis’ jugular and begging with himself to keep the words in that were clawing at his throat, crawling over his tongue, prying at his lips and clamoring to escape the confines of his mind and his heart.

Louis’ legs dropped from around Harry’s waist, feet touching down on the floor as Harry removed his hands to allow his lover free range of motion. Louis huffed a breath against Harry’s throat as he pulled away, his hands slipping from Harry’s hair to trail over his arms, slipping so that they once again grasped loosely at Harry’s hands.

“We were supposed to take a bath, Harry,” he whispered amusedly against his partner’s lips, eyes alight with sated mirth, “the water’ll be lukewarm at best, now.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry struggled to lift his lips into his signature smirk, his heart still thumping with that damn  _feeling_ , “I’ll keep you warm.”

“Cheeky,” Louis grinned teasingly, pulling him towards the tub, careful not to trip over the bath mat, “Are we gonna talk about what happened?”

“We slept together,” Harry said flatly, feigning innocence, “It’s not exactly a rare occurrence.”

“Guess not, then,” Louis sighed, nodding like he had expected it. Harry almost felt bad, but he couldn’t talk about why he had defended Louis without telling Louis everything, so he’d avoid it for as long as possible. Louis climbed over the lip of the tub, hissing as he sank slowly into the now cold water. “Get your ass in here, then, it’s  _freezing._ ”

Harry chuckled involuntarily, climbing over as well and settling against the wall of the tub. The cold water lapped at his sides and he whined, tensing slightly as he waited to adjust. Louis turned the hot water on, the stream of liquid gushing loudly into the already full tub, and unplugged the drain to let the cold water out.

Harry’s muscles loosened gradually as the hot water slowly began replacing and mixing with the cold water, the temperature of the tub becoming much more comfortable. Louis re-stoppered the drain and switched off the water, plunging the bathroom into silence. Harry waited, watching as Louis slowly turned back around.

Harry opened his arms tentatively, offering to let Louis come over if he wanted. Louis eyed him for several tense seconds, his face entirely unreadable, and Harry felt his stomach sinking. Just as he was about to give up and let his arms drop, Louis gave a little shrug, as if to say “why not?” and swished over to settle into Harry’s arms.

“Ew,” Louis mumbled, squirming against Harry’s chest, the water sloshing around them as he wiggled, “Your stomach’s all sticky.”

“’S not exactly my fault, is it,” Harry chuckled, still unsure where the boundaries were and if he was over stepping any. Louis scoffed, leaning forward to pick up the wash cloth and scrub at his own stomach. He finished quickly, turning around to start on Harry’s. Harry felt himself tense at the touch, unused to the intimacy, much less that that was initiated by Louis. He willed himself to relax as Louis washed him off, hands gentle.

“You made me do this,” Louis whined, his cheeks pink, “I’m not usually this messy.”

“You’ve always been this messy with me,” Harry pointed out, glad for a distraction from the fluttering in his gut. Louis’ cheeks glowed brighter at this, and he focused further on cleaning Harry’s chest, his stomach now free of spunk.

“Shut up,” he muttered, clearly unable to come up with a better retort. Harry allowed himself a quiet moment of pride at this, as Louis hands traveled over his shoulders; Louis always had something to say, and Harry felt quite pleased with himself for rendering him speechless for once. Louis’ hands stopped, cupping Harry’s jaw as his eyes flitted up to meet Harry’s gaze. Harry’s breath caught, the air freezing in his lungs as he stared into blue, blue, blue.

Louis’ eyes looked almost sad as they took in Harry’s face, his hands moving slowly to wash Harry’s bruised features with a sort of reverent care. Harry’s eyes slipped shut involuntarily, allowing himself to focus on the feel of Louis’ fingers beneath the soft, wet cloth that ghosted over his cheeks, under his eyes, across his forehead.

The cloth dropped, but Harry didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to see Louis’ expression, didn’t want to see the pity or rejection in his eyes.

Soft lips pressed against his cheek, then to his bruised eye, then to the side of his nose that had begun to swell. Louis’ lips kissed each of Harry’s bruises gently, his wet fingers cradling Harry’s skull to hold him in place. After he had kissed each of Harry’s injuries, his lips moved to press carefully to Harry’s own. The pressure was light, tentative, as though he were unsure if Harry would be okay with it.

They’d never really kissed just to kiss before. It had always led to something else, even if that something else came a few hours later. They were always quick to shove their tongues down each other’s throats, hands clutching desperately at hair and skin and clothes as they worked themselves up to the point of no return.

This kiss was very different. There was no tongue, no desperation, no heat. It was soft, slow, gentle. Louis’ thumbs stroked Harry’s cheek bones carefully, and Harry’s hands rested lightly on Louis’ hips. There was no fervor, no need, no sexual motive. This was not a means to an end. This was just—nice.

Harry let out a small sigh against Louis’ mouth, his lips moving languidly against his lover’s. They were slowing down, coming to a natural stop at their kisses petered out. Louis pressed two more short pecks against Harry’s mouth, before pulling back to rest his forehead against Harry’s, their eyes staying closed.

Harry felt drugged, heavy, satisfied. His head felt fuzzy, and his limbs were tingling pleasantly. Louis’ thumbs were still stroking his face, branding his skin, and he felt wonderfully numb.

“Thank you,” Louis breathed, his breath ghosting over Harry’s face, “for defending me.”

And what was Harry supposed to say to that? He didn’t think Louis even meant for him to respond, so he kept his mouth shut. They stayed there for a little while longer, the water cooling around them, when Louis finally started complaining about his knees cramping. Harry teased him for being a pussy, but really he was glad to move, as his back had fallen asleep beneath him.

They didn’t bother getting dressed, just drying each other off in silence. Louis seemed intent on taking care of Harry, perhaps in gratitude for what he had done earlier, but Harry wasn’t too worried about it. He didn’t particularly care  _why_ Louis was suddenly being affectionate, he was just happy to bask in it.

“I’m staying with you tonight,” Louis declared once he had finished rubbing Harry down. His voice rang with finality, but his eyes held a note of uncertainty, as though pleading with Harry not to reject him.

“Alright,” Harry replied, trying to keep his tone neutral as the butterflies in his stomach immediately decided that now was a great time to take some ecstasy and go crazy.

The two wandered back to Harry’s room, not speaking, both lost in their thoughts. Harry watched silently as Louis clambered confidently into Harry’s bed, curling up next to the wall and waiting for Harry himself to get in.

Harry had to shake himself, his heart whispering how right Louis looked in his bed, how Harry should be doing everything in his power to keep him there forever. His mind, on the other hand, told Harry horrible things, told him he wasn’t worthy of Louis’ time or love, he didn’t deserve to even be Louis’ plaything, that he was lucky as he was to just be Louis’ release, that Louis would leave him eventually because he wasn’t worth staying for.

He tried desperately to ignore these thoughts, climbing into bed next to Louis and pulling the covers up around them. Louis smiled, whispered ‘good night’ into the air between them, and rolled over, dropping off almost instantly.

Harry lay awake for three hours, memorizing the curve of Louis’ back, and trying to erase his insecurities from his mind.

*~*~*~*

Waking up wrapped around Louis could easily become Harry’s favourite thing, if he wasn’t careful. He was warm and comfortable, limbs entangled intimately with Louis’ as they lay sprawled across the covers. He pressed up closer against Louis’ back, chasing the last vestiges of sleep that were quickly waning as the throbbing in his face began creeping to the fore of his conscious. His muscles felt sore, tired, heavy, and his nose and eye felt fat and bruised. He groaned internally, not wanting to wake up and have to face the damage that had been done the night prior.

Ignoring the pain, he carefully pushed his face into the back of Louis’ neck, trying to hide from the morning that was stirring around them. His nose twanged in protest, and he huffed sharply as his head reared back involuntarily. His eyes watered—okay, so maybe fighting hadn’t been his best idea. He bit down on his lower lip, stifling the whimper of pain that wanted out. Tucking his chin into his chest, he pressed his forehead under the base of Louis’ skull, counting his breaths and matching them with Louis’ own, slowing his frantic heart and stemming the panic that had risen angrily in his chest.

He felt Louis shift, a deep sigh heaving his chest as he turned over in Harry’s arms, subconsciously nudging Harry so he could tuck his head under the curly-haired boy’s chin. His fingers curled against Harry’s collar bones, his breath puffing against Harry’s neck, causing a flush to creep slowly up his torso. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, his previous moment of pain forgotten in lieu of Louis’ sleepy affection.

But his face was still throbbing, and he was pretty sure his left eye was swollen shut, and  _god_  he must be hideous. Louis could hardly stand to look at him on a good day, what would he do now that Harry’s face was one, giant, mottled bruise? He’d barely managed yesterday to distract him with sex, and the bath had been awkward as fuck. Harry had been waiting the whole time for Louis to just up and leave, disgusted by Harry’s heathen appearance, unable to keep up the pretense of gratitude for the gesture of protection.

Louis’ hair was tickling his jaw, the pads of his fingers pressed securely and stroking lightly along his collar bone, his breath caressing the skin of Harry’s neck in a tantalizing kiss as he drew air through parted lips. Harry was tingling pleasantly below the neck, and throbbing painfully above it. The conflicting sensations were messing with his brain, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted Louis to wake up so he could get some advil, or if he wanted Louis to stay there, like that, with him forever.

In the end, Louis decided for him, stirring slowly and arching in a half-conscious stretch, the length of his body pressing firmly all the way down Harry’s. Harry’s fingers curled subconsciously around Louis’ hips, a soft gasp pushing past his lips as his breath hitched. He was painfully aware of both their states of undress, and his libido was telling him to take what was his. His face, and the more sane part of his brain, told him differently, clamoring for painkillers.

Louis relaxed again against Harry’s chest, curling up in his arms and mumbling incoherently about hot chocolate and rainbows. Harry bit his lip against a laugh, his nose twinging in protest at the movement, and he wondered silently if he he should say something. Louis seemed to be waking up on his own though, slowly coming to, however much of a fight he was giving himself.

Finally, Louis huffed, sounding upset, and pried his eyes open. He shot back in shock, scooting back on the mattress as he realized who he had been cuddling with in his sleep. His half-conscious brain started to panic for a moment as he woke up, not sure how he ended up in Harry’s bed. His eyes found Harry’s bruised face, shock and hurt swimming in his eyes in response to Louis’ reaction, and Louis relaxed almost instantly, the events of the night prior returning to him quickly. He let out a breath of relief, scooting back over to Harry, not quite as close as he had been before, but close enough that they could share the same pillow.

“Morning,” he mumbled softly, his voice rough and gravely, “Sorry, I forgot that last night happened.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered, unsure what was going on, “Last night happened.”

“You wanna tell me why?” Louis asked, still feeling the need to speak quietly. Harry looked away, not sure how to explain himself to this man, this beautiful man who had wormed his way into Harry’s heart and mind and soul and latched on like a limpet, how could he explain his motives to him when Louis had not given a single indication of feelings more than platonic for him?

“I don’t know,” he settled on, “It just kind of happened.”

“Okay,” Louis sighed, sounding disappointed, “if you say so. How are you feeling?”

“Face hurts,” Harry told him, finally meeting Louis’ eyes now that they had moved away from dangerous territory, “Tired. Arms are sore. I think my knuckles are a bit bruised, too.”

“Have you taken anything for it, yet?” Louis asked. Harry shook his head minutely, the pillow blocking any large movements of his head. “Would you like me to get you something?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Harry said instead of answering, seeming to catch Louis off guard, “If you’re doing this out of pity or sympathy or whatever you can stop, okay? I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

“Why would I pity you?” Louis questioned bemusedly, face clouding with confusion, “I’m just trying to be gracious. You beat someone up for me, Harry, how else am I supposed to repay you for that? I know you hate me, but please, just let me take care of you.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry mumbled, averting his eyes again as a blush washed over his battered cheeks, “You’re annoying and a twat sometimes, but I don’t hate you.”

“Well,” Louis paused, unsure how he should respond, “Thanks? I guess?”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Harry told him, “It’s just a statement of fact.”

“Okay,” Louis agreed, “Well, in that case… I don’t exactly hate you either.”

“Good to know,” Harry couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, dimple carving itself into his flesh. He hissed slightly as his cheeks bunched under his eyes, smile falling from his lips to relieve the pressure on his bruise. This didn’t go unnoticed by Louis, who rolled his eyes, sitting up and swinging himself over Harry quickly.

“You’re a twat,” he told him, although there was not malice in his voice, “I’m getting you some painkillers.”

“Nice arse,” Harry called after him, having to say something to keep equilibrium after the conversation they’d just had. Louis turned in the doorway to flip him off, before wandering nakedly into the bathroom to get the pills and a glass of water.

“Here, sit up,” Louis instructed as he walked back into Harry’s bedroom. Harry looked up from his position on his back, holding back a smirk as Louis shut the bedroom door with his hip, everything in full view of Harry’s wandering eyes. “Eyes up, cock sucker.”

“Wow, never blowing you again,” Harry teased as he propped himself up against the headboard, “Cock sucker? Rude.”

“Just telling it like it is,” Louis shrugged, handing him the glass of water and a couple of pills, which Harry knocked back gratefully, “Scoot, I want in.”

Harry rolled his eyes, setting the glass on the bedside table, and wriggled over so that Louis could climb under the covers with him. They both lay back down, heads falling naturally to rest on the same pillow as they gazed at each other for a few minutes.

“I really am grateful, you know,” Louis intoned softly, eyes wandering over Harry’s face, “for what you did. No one’s ever defended me so completely before, and I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry whispered back, for lack of something better to say. A short, slightly awkward silence settled over them, and Harry started to itch under his skin. Deciding the situation merited it, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. Louis sighed, pushing closer to Harry in response, his hand coming to rest on his jaw where it had yesterday. Harry’s own hands reached out to draw him closer, wrapping around his waist tightly, not wanting to let go of the moment they had encased themselves in.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s head shot up to look at the door, as he was the one facing it. In the doorway stood Liam, a newspaper clutched in his hands as he stared dumbly at his friends. “What’s going on here?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, slightly more harshly than necessary, panic seeping into his brain as his hands curled tighter around Louis, instinctively protecting him, “Don’t you know how to knock?”  
  


“I did knock,” Liam answered dazedly, “I knocked four times, but you didn’t answer. I came to tell you that your fight was in the news. Care to explain what you’re doing kissing each other, naked, in bed?”


	9. Chapter 9

A silence hung tensely in the air as they stayed, frozen, in place. It wasn’t exactly an easy situation to explain, especially not to Liam. Louis’ hand had slipped down Harry’s neck when Harry had moved to look toward the door, but it still rested lightly on his chest, the younger boy’s hands continuing to grip his waist. 

Louis moved first, pushing himself back and ignoring the twinge in his chest at the loss of contact with Harry’s warm body. He just barely remembered their lack of clothes in time to keep the covers over him as he sat up slightly and turned toward Liam, the boy’s eyebrows nearly disappearing under his hairline. 

“I was just checking his face,” Louis said with and absent wave of his hand, feigning innocence. 

“With your mouth?” Liam asked, crossing his arms.

“And thanking him for yesterday— god, Liam, what do you care?” He tried not to scowl as he huffed, keeping his arms so one propped him up, palm flat against the warm sheets, and the other held the duvet to his chest. 

“I care because last time I checked you hated each other and this is not normal.” Liam said, arms relaxing slightly and eyebrows lowering into less of a surprised expression, and more similar to one of worry. 

“What were you saying about the pap?” Harry cut in, turning the other boys’ attention to him. 

“Yeah,” Liam said, unfolding the newspaper and taking a tentitive step forward before stopping, eyes shifting slightly, and throwing the paper the rest of the way where it landed with a rustle on top of the duvet in to heap. Louis made to grab it, but Harry was faster, eyes scanning the photos quickly. Unthinking, Louis leaned over — so their sides were touching — to look at the same time. 

There were five photos, each with a caption, along with a short column along the left side of the page, text too small for Louis to read from his spot. The first picture was small, in the left hand corner of the page, just the five of them leaving the restaurant, Zayn’s arm halfway in his jacket and the other boys walking normally ahead. The second showed the other group of boys approaching, before any punches had been thrown, but one had his mouth open, releasing those terrible slurs that had settled so grimily on Louis’ skin. 

His eyes continued along the page, taking in the next picture, large and central, where Harry’s face was red, eyes wild and fist midway to the other boy’s face. It was different for Louis, seeing it from this angle. He had been behind Harry at the time; he hadn’t seen the intense anger in his green eyes, and the way his mouth snarled. It scared him, but there was something else there as well… Harry had never looked at him like that; never in all their months and months of living together and fighting, his eyes had never held that angry colour, his nose never wrinkling in such an animalistic growl.

The next picture was smaller, but not as close up to the fight. He could see him and the other boys in the background. His hands were covering his mouth, the collar of Harry’s jumper slipping over his shoulder and making him look small and helpless, just how he had felt. The last photo was of him and Harry, his hand on Harry’s cheek and his eyebrows furrowed. The photographer must have had a powerful camera, because the picture was so close, and so clear, he could see into his own eyes. It was kind of surreal, looking in on himself like this, this outside perspective. He could see each line and wrinkle, each speck in his eyes. He could see— There was an emotion there, so painfully evident that Louis had to suck in a breath for fear of losing all of the air in the room. How could he see it so clearly now, in a grainy newspaper photograph, but he couldn’t see it when it was happening to him? Was it so obvious to everyone else, the apparent… concern? Devotion? For lack of a better word. 

He startled out of his trance as Harry’s voice began to rumble beside him, reading the column accompanying the photographs.

“The world famous boyband, One Direction, was spotted alone yesterday after apparently having dinner at the five star restarant on Hammersford & Smith,” he began, voice dull and void of emotion. “The group, notorious for their adoring — and sometimes manic — fans and need of large security men where ever they go, seemed to have desired an escape from their fame for a quiet night on the town with the boys. Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, and Harry Styles exited the restaurant alone from the back entrance where they were met, not by adoring fans, but a rough group of hoodlums that quickly began throwing derogatory slurs at the group’s oldest member, Louis Tomlinson.” 

Harry’s voice growled his name angrily, the paper beginning to shake in his fingers. Louis slid a reasurring hand onto his back, leaning into him and urging him on. Harry continued. 

“Perhaps this would have been a good time for the famous ‘Daddy Direction’ to step in, because the youngest member of the group, Harry Styles, seemed adamant on protecting his bandmate’s honor, and soon engaged in a verbal-turned-physical fight with one of the other men. Should fans worry about this apparent charmer’s temper? Maybe, but only if they plan on abusing his best friend and roommate. Tomlinson eventually managed to pull the younger boy from the fight and proceeded to examine his face thoroughly, in a way much more than simply friendly, before they left together in a rush, leaving their other three bandmates in the dust. Do these boys have more going on than meets the eye? Or is Styles a hunky, British Hulk, ready to rage at any moment? Their management will surely have to work a little harder to reign in the boy’s anger. We wouldn’t want him hurting his bandmates, or worse, his fans.”

Harry lowered the paper onto his lap, eyes looking forward and boring into the wall. His body radiated his, whether from his recent stay under the covers, or some internal force, Louis wasn’t exactly sure, but he could guess.

“Harry,” he said hesitently, ghosting his hand over the boy’s strong back in tentative circles. “It’s okay, it’s just a stupid story. It’s not that bad.”

Harry snorted.

“We’ll have a meeting with management today, I’m sure.” Liam said from the doorway, shifting on his feet and scratching his neck. “And you two— just—” He sighed heavily, shaking his head before he continued. “I don’t know what is going on with you, but don’t screw this up, okay? We’ve never had really bad publicity before, so it shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you act… normal.”

Louis felt Harry suck in a breath beside him, the younger boy’s eyes staying fixed on the wall.

“We got it, Liam. Can you please just go? Text me the details later.” Louis looked at his friend standing halfway in the room. He looked comflicted, like there was something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if he should. Louis, frankly, didn’t want to hear it; didn’t want to hear anything. He didn’t want to hear Liam’s rant, he didn’t want to hear what management would think or the fans would think. Honestly, he didn’t even want to hear Liam saying he accepted them and their relationship was ok with him, though he doubted that would happen anyway. All he wanted was for Liam to leave and close the door behind him so Harry could relax and his muscles could unknot from where they were pulled taunt and bunched uncomfortably. The mood from earlier had been broken the moment Liam had first spoken, but all Louis could think about was getting it back.

He still wasn’t completely sure what his feelings were about the entire situation, how could he be when it was all so god damned confusing? But he did know that the feeling he had had just before Liam walked in had been better than most of the feelings he’d had in his lifetime, and he wanted it back, call him selfish. 

Liam nodded and pursed his lips awkwardly before bowing out of the room and closing the door behind him. Silence followed. Louis laid his hand flat against Harry’s back, pressing against his muscle until he felt the tension begin to disapate, and Harry relaxed against him. He shouldn’t be here, in this intimate position with Harry, naked under the covers of his bed. He shouldn’t be the one comforting him. He shouldn’t be a lot of things where Harry is concerned, but he was never one to listen to rules anyway.

“Harry?” He broke the silence with a quiet whisper, a simple breath in the shape of Harry’s name. 

“Mmm?” Harry barely answered, body still froszen slightly. 

“Are you ok?” Louis shifted to look at Harry’s face, blue eyes scaning the blossomed bruise, puffing up on the surface of his skin, painting it purple and blue. His green eyes seemed to stand out in stark contrast, but perhaps it was the strange, swirling motions in them, as though Harry’s mind couldn’t decide where to fall, which was logical in any case. He scoffed, pushing the eye above the bruise closed and wincing.

“What do you think?” He had meant it to come out hostile, Louis could tell, but instead it sounded tired, defeated. Or perhaps Louis was simply coming to understand him more, the way he breathed familiar, the sound of his voice nearly… /comfortable/ in his ears. 

“I think not,” he gave the younger boy a small smile, even though his head had started to scream somewhere between ‘familiar’ and ‘comfortable’. He needed to get away, but he couldn’t tear himself out of bed, not while someone needed him, not while /Harry/ needed him. 

When had he become… attached? Less than hostile, anyway. Sometime in the last 24 hours — perhaps it was in the elevator when he had squeezed so close to Harry’s body, nearly burrowing into his soul — something had changed and he no longer listened to the voice in his head warning him against Harry. Even though he knew — he /knew/ — Harry was sure to hurt him later and this was merely setting him up for inevitable pain, perhaps both physical and psychological, he couldn’t leave.

Harry merely shrugged and closed the paper, folding it so the photos were no longer visible, and tossing it towards the wall.

“Come on,” Louis said, pressing the tips of his fingers to the tender flesh of Harry’s cheek. “Let’s get some stuff for your face, and then you can make me breakfast because you know I shit at it.”

A small smile twitched at Harry’s lips and he nodded.

——

Louis and Harry didn’t talk very much that day, save for when Liam texted Louis telling them to be ready at five the next morning for an early television interview and to check his e-mail for the overveiw of what would be talked about. He applied generous amounts of cream to Harry’s puffy face, made numerous pots of tea, and may have burned the pasta to the bottom of Harry’s favourite pan while attempting to cook them dinner, which they ended up ordering out. Night crept in the windows and they waved awkwardly goodnight as they shut their doors to their respective rooms.

Louis laid awake — his ceiling becoming suddenly too interesting to stop staring at — and attempted supress the nagging thoughts eating away at the edges of his mind.

——

The next morning was too much of a rush for much talking, mostly grunts of acknowledgement and nods and handmotions for breakfast conversation. It wasn’t until they arrived at the television studio that any of the boys actually said anything, and that was only so their voices wouldn’t croak to life for the nation to hear. 

The make-up department nearly had a heart attack at the sight of Harry’s face, despite the fact that the swelling had gone down enough so his eye no longer squinted shut and the colour had faded to a shade closer to his skin tone. However, the greenish-yellow hue of the bruised patch wasn’t quite as complimentary to his eyes as the purple had been.

They sat the five of them on a  long couch, as they did in nearly every interview, with Harry closest to the interviewer — Charles was it? — and Louis beside him. The youngest boy’s good side was angled toward the camera, but he had been told to make sure the audience got a good look at his bruise at least once, to rally support for his vulnerablity. Apparently teenage girls liked that kind of thing.

“So Harry,” Charles? said, continuing although Louis had apparently missed their introduction and most likely looked like an idiot — or a diva — for not waving. “How’s the face?”

Harry let out a laugh, his fake laugh, the one he used when he had to, but didn’t really feel like it. His mouth would quirk to one side, intead of both, and his eyes wouldn’t squint closed. 

He turned his bruise toward the camera, pointing to it with a smirk. “I got quite the mark, that’s for sure.”

Charles laughed, as did the rest of the audience, and the rest of the boys. Louis tried his best to join them, but only managed a tight smile. 

“Was it worth it?” Charles asked, leaning forward, like he wanted in on some sort of secret. But the boys were too good for that, they had been trained to well, and Harry began like his guidenotes had said, steering the conversation away from him, and onto a broader topic.

“Well, violence is never the answer, Charles, as we can all see,” Harry charmed, motioning to his face. “But the fact that I stood up the something I believed in is not something I regret, no. I don’t tolerate bullying or name calling, especially in such a rude way. My assailant was using derogatory terms against the entire LGBTQ community. As a band, we don’t discriminate against people, we love all of our fans, and all types of people.”

Charles nodded seriously, leaning back and motioning for Harry to continue. The boy glanced at Louis, catching his eye and keeping it.

“Honestly, I don’t like labels anyway, and that’s what people like to focus on. As a group, people like to label us, as people and individuals, people like to label us, but I’ve never understood why.” Louis held his breath as Harry spoke, eyes roaming over his face, eyebrows furrowed. “People are who they are, and no one can change that by slapping a label on it. You can’t box someone into a category you think they fit in, and not expect there to be exceptions. What if a person acts one way, but thinks another? If a person acts tough and hard on the outside, people label him. They say he’s a jerk and not worth their time, but if they only looked underneath, they might see something else.” Something clicked, soft, nearly unnoticable until it wasn’t. Harry—

“Or maybe,” the boy continued, “maybe someone really is the way they seem on the outside. Maybe you look at someone and you see what they really are, but even then shouldn’t label them, because what if they change? They change, you change, the whole world changes. Maybe that person can learn to love you.” Silence fell over the room. It clenched around Louis’ neck in a chokehold, cutting off the words sitting heavy on his tongue. He was aware that he was still staring into Harry’s eyes, on National television, after Harry could have maybe possibly insinuated that he had feelings for him and hoped they were returned. But no— no. Maybe that wasn’t it at all. Was Louis grasping for something? Anything? Because he realized, in that moment, staring into Harry’s face, green and yellow bruised, with millions of people watching, he realized, he loved him. 

Irrationally, irrevocably, unashamedly loved him. 

He loved the way he smelled when he came out of the shower, and how his hair is a right mess in the mornings. He loved that he could always tell when Harry was amused, even when he wasn’t smiling; how he nearly always made enough food for the both of them, without Louis asking. He loved that he was as perverted as a teenager but was actually thoughtful and caring, and didn’t objectify people nearly as much as it seemed. He loved that he took what he wanted, and didn’t worry about hurting Louis’ feelings. He loved that he didn’t treat Louis like a baby. 

Louis loved the way Harry fucked him against the wall, and into the mattress. He loved the way his eyes became dark when he was angry with Louis, how his voice turned gravelly whenever Louis defied him. He loved watching Harry go down on him, and the way his eyelashes looked splayed over his cheekbones. He loved the way Harry held him when they fell asleep on the couch. He loved the way Harry hated anyone getting near enough to touch Louis, and how he claimed Louis as his own. He loved that Harry didn’t need him.

But mostly, he loved that really, he did.

——

Louis didn’t hear anything else. He didn’t hear the interviewer’s awkward cough and how he turned the questions to Liam, who began with a slight stutter but brought the interview home nicely. He didn’t hear the applause at the end of the interview. He didn’t hear the stage managers telling them they were finished. He didn’t hear the screaming fans as they pushed through the crowd to their van. He was deaf to everything but Harry. Harry’s voice, Harry’s laugh, Harry’s breathing. 

The younger boy seemed on edge as well, could he sense the change in Louis’ mind? Probably. It felt like heat radiating off of him, like he had somehow, in the last hour, morphed into a tiny, human-shaped version of the sun.

“What?” Louis asked, turning to Liam, who had obviously been talking to him. The five of them were standing in the parkinglot of their housing complex, hands in their pockets.

“I said,” Liam huffed, “that we need a band meeting.”

“Not today,” Louis said without thinking, eyes flashing to Harry again, his whole body seeming to ache when the boy wasn’t in his direct line of sight. “We have something we need to do.”

He had never really thought about that word before; we. It had never seem important, never truly relevant to his life. There had been a lot of we’s in his life, his family, his friends, even his ex-girlfriends, but those we’s, they were’s the same. They weren’t as heavy, as saturated, as this one. This one had meaning, context of its own outside of the mere construction and conjagation of the sentence. This one held power and truth and fear and devotion and trust. This one was not a compilation of more than one thing put together, but rather one thing with such high importance that it must be expressed as two.

“Louis—” Liam started but stopped himself, sighing. “Fine, fine. Later, then.”

Louis nodded, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him to their door. His heart was thudding too loudly in his chest now, he heard too much. Liam had broken his sheid of temporary deafness, and it was like everything was crashing in, pushing against his ears and thrusting itself on him. 

Harry’s pulse beat steady and fast beneath his fingertips, his breathing hot and loud behind him. Louis could hear the click of the lock and the grind of the metal as he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, pulling Harry behind him with gentle fingers. The door shut with a bang, or at least what sounded like a bang to him, and he jumped. 

He got it now, he really did, but he didn’t know how to tell Harry. He didn’t know how to tell him that he needed him, that he had too many feelings for his body. He didn’t know how to tell him that he wanted to feel him, all of him, forever and ever and ever until they were both to old and weak to move and they died, bodies pressed tightly into one being, so they were no longer two people. He didn’t know how to form sentences, words, /sounds/ sufficient enough to explain every beat of his heart and breath in his lungs. There were no words, only feelings, the things he had been so afraid of accepting for so long; the things he had pushed away with such force, he thought he would never feel them again.

So he didn’t try. He kept his mouth silent, opened only so his struggling lungs could suck in the air needed for his survival. His fingertips ghosted over the surface of Harry’s forearms, barely touching, but steering him toward the bedroom and pushing lightly until Harry sat on the edge of the bed. 

Louis pulled his shirt over his head, Harry mimicking, and settled his thighs on either side of the younger boy’s. His hand lifted, travelling slowly up along the side on Harry’s neck, not touching, merely tracing the contours — the shapes and the angles — of Harry’s face. He could feel the hot breath over his skin, hear the sweet beating of their hearts and the rustle of the sheets. His fingers landed on Harry’s bottom lip, tracing the surface, his eyes shifting to every possible place they would find, wanting to see all of him at once. Louis knew his eyebrows were furrowed, he could feel them. He could feel how his face was pinched in a futile attempt to keep emotion from escaping. 

“Louis—” Harry breathed. Louis pressed into him, lips covering lips, soft and gentle and /loving/. He craddled Harry’s face carefully, breathing into his mouth and sucking the air from his lungs. 

One hand slid down Harry’s neck and chest between them, palming the area so sensitive, so ready, so aching on both of them. Louis ground down, their foreheads pressed together as they breathed heavily. They rocked together, eyes searching and hands roaming, an occasional moan escaping their open mouths.

Louis pressed Harry back, shuffling shifting moving together and apart as one on the surface of the mattress. They rid themselves of their trousers with shaking hands, Louis’ searching in the drawer of the nightstand for the small bottle in the corner. Trembling fingers gripped it tightly as he pressed light kisses down Harry’s long torso, past his waist to his slim hips. His hand wrapped around the younger boy, squeezing and tugging and twisting, peppering kisses on the insides of this muscular thighs. 

He needed this, he needed to show Harry how much he loved him, how much he had trusted him, how he could do the same. He needed to show Harry that he could be stable, be the support, just like Harry had been for him in his indirect and abstract way. His hand moved up Harry’s thigh and flipped open the small bottle, squeezing the contents over his fingers. 

It shouldn’t be something that made him tremble, it shouldn’t feel so new and unfamiliar, not when they had done this so many times before. But now it was different. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t messy, it wasn’t meaningless. Though, if Louis thought about it, how many of the others had been meaningless? The first ten? Five? One? None at all? Had they all meant something in the end?

Harry sucked in a ragged breath and a soft and surprised yelp as Louis’ slick finger prodded him. He looked up, breath leaving his lungs at the sight of Harry’s pupils blown wide, his teeth gripping at his bottom lip. He had never looked so young, so vulnerable, so exposed. There was something different about looking at Harry while his finger pressed into him and his hand pumped moans from the deepest parts of his chest. 

He pressed two fingers and moved them slowly, watching in wonder as Harry rolled and twisted hips in a circle, skin flushed bright red and lips pink from biting them. His eyes were beginning to slip shut, but Louis could see he was struggling to keep them open, to keep them watching him. Another finger and a new angle and Harry was panting loudly, pressing hard against Louis’ hand, bucking up and squeezing himself roughly.

“Lou,” Harry nearly growled, using a hand to yank at the top of Louis’ hair. The older boy smiled, slipping his fingers out and squeezing the contents of the bottle onto himself until he was hard and slick and pressing into the heat beneath him. His mouth was on Harry’s, eyes open as he tried to tell him with the words of his body. /Needneedneed/, his tongue sang as it swept over the surface of the boy’s lips. /Lovelovelove/, his body whispered as it pressed into the tight warmth, the overwhelming closeness surrounding him.

“Please,” he didn’t know he said it until he felt Harry’s legs around his back, sliding him in ever further. Harry’s back arched and Louis shifted, making the younger cry out. “Please,” he whispered again, brushing a thumb across the surface of Harry’s cheek.

Harry nodded, pulling Louis down to his chest so he was trapped between them, the slick heat of their bodies rubbing his sensitive flesh.

In and out. In and out, a slow pace, a loving pace, a painful pace. Louis needed Harry to see, needed him to /feel/ the same bliss he had given Louis so often. His hips pulled back and it was becoming too much. He snapped them forward and Harry’s fingers gripped at his back, spine arching off the bed. The boy groaned loudly and twined his hands in Louis’ hair, pressing their mouths together as he breathed heavily. 

“Lou,” he groaned into the older boy’s mouth, jerking and coming undone beneath him. He pulled Louis close, so close, closer than they had ever been. Louis could feel it now, the tiny bit that had been missing in the elevator; Love.

He came hard, one arm pulling Harry to his chest and the other in his hair, his mouth opened but his eyes closed.

Trembling, chest heaving, Louis moved his head to look Harry in the eye. He squeezed his blue eyes shut tight and pressed their lips together once more, moving his mouth along Harry’s jaw and settling under the curve by his throat. 

“I love you,” he kissed into Harry’s shining skin.


	10. Chapter 10

_Previously:_

_“Lou,” he groaned into the older boy’s mouth, jerking and coming undone beneath him. He pulled Louis close, so close, closer than they had ever been. Louis could feel it now, the tiny bit that had been missing in the elevator; Love._

_He came hard, one arm pulling Harry to his chest and the other in his hair, his mouth opened but his eyes closed._

_Trembling, chest heaving, Louis moved his head to look Harry in the eye. He squeezed his blue eyes shut tight and pressed their lips together once more, moving his mouth along Harry’s jaw and settling under the curve by his throat._

_“I love you,” he kissed into Harry’s shining skin._

*~*~*~*

“What,” Harry’s voice is flat and emotionless, and it’s not a question. Louis shifts up so he’s not laying so much on top of him, so he can see his eyes. Louis doesn’t like what he sees there—or doesn’t see, really. Harry’s entire face is void of any emotion, no thoughts flickering in his eyes like they usually do.

“I—I  _love_  you,” Louis repeats, for lack of anything better to say. Harry’s eyes grow duller, if that was possible, and a short, mirthless laugh falls harshly from his lips. He pushes, rolling Louis over so he can sit up, turning his back to Louis and putting his head in his hands, his feet swinging onto the floor.

“That’s great, Louis,” Harry tells him, his voice full of something bitter, and it tastes awful on Louis’ own tongue, “Really nice.”

“What are you talking about,” Louis whispers around a dry tongue, the organ heavy against his teeth. His stomach is sinking, because this is not the reaction he had expected.

“’I’m not gay’,” Harry mimics, the pitch of his voice rising nastily, “’I don’t like men’. I’m a man, Louis.”

“I—I  _know_  that,” Louis tells him, not sure how to respond, “I guess—I guess you’re the exception to the rule.”

“Am I?” Harry asks, and another bitter laugh leaves his lips—Louis never wants to hear that sound again, “Or do you just tell that to every guy you  _fuck_.”

“Is that what this is about?” Louis says incredulously, “Me fucking you?”

“No, no,” Harry tells him airily, and Louis doesn’t feel very convinced, “I just think it’s weird, you know. Soon as you pull your dick out of my ass you have the right to treat me however you want, yeah? Tell me you love me, because  _damn_ that was good, and  _damn_  you want more, so  _fuck_  if you aren’t going to sweet talk your way back in there, right? ‘I love you’ is the fastest way in, yeah? Even if you don’t mean it—it’s a one-way ticket to Harry’s ass.”

“That’s—what?” Louis is speechless, “Why would you—what makes you think—”

“Don’t try to tell me I’m wrong,” Harry cuts him off, reaching down for his pants and slipping them back over his thighs, “Because I know I’m right. You could never love a man like me. Hell, you said it yourself,  _Louis—_ you could never love a man, period.”

And he’s picking up his clothes, and the tears are stinging behind his eyes as he tries to keep himself composed, keeps his back to the bed so he doesn’t see Louis’ guilty face. And it  _burns_. It burns in his veins and his chest and his stomach. His whole body is on fire, and not in the blissful way it had been moments before—in the gut-wrenchingly painful way that only heartbreak can cause. He doesn’t say another word as he stumbles toward Louis’ door, begging Louis desperately with his mind to stop him—to call him back to bed, to wrap him up in his his arms and kiss away his fears and stroke his hair until he falls asleep to the lullaby of Louis’ “I love you”.

But he doesn’t, just as Harry knew he wouldn’t, and that hurts more than anything else. Because the silence is a confirmation of his previously voiced thoughts. If Louis had called him back before his feet had touched the carpet of the landing outside his door, Harry thought he might’ve been able to turn around, to crawl back under the covers and let himself fall into Louis’ lies, to cocoon himself in them and make them his reality, because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

*~*~*~*

“Right, so, we should get somethings straight,” Liam begins, pacing in front of Harry and Louis, who sit at opposite ends of the couch, “Because I’m a little confused, and so are the rest of the boys.”

“If you guys are together, that’s totally fine,” Zayn adds, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees and fix the two boys with a painfully earnest stare, “We just don’t really know what’s going on—we thought you guys hated each other, you know? It’s kind of a shock, but we can work with it.”

Niall stays silent in his chair, watching Harry and Louis not watch each other. It’s strange, he thinks, because they’ve never not watched each other before, even when they had hated each other. Then again, he thinks, did they every really hate each other, if this is what’s come of it?

“If you guys are gonna be together, then we also need to talk to management,” Liam says, nodding to himself as he paces, “And we need to know what you guys have planned for coming out—when you want to, how you want to, and so on.”

“You know,” Harry says, breaking his self imposed silence, “I don’t think you need to worry about any of that.”

“Well, why not?” Zayn asks, confusion settling in his eyes, “We wanna help you, support you, so of course we’re gonna worry about it.”

“You don’t need to,” Harry repeats, “It was nothing. A moment of madness, if you will. It means nothing, it meant nothing, and it’ll amount to nothing, so can we all just forget it happened and move on with our lives?”

They all watch as he storms out of the room, and Louis feels himself breaking. At the sound of a door slam, all eyes turn back to him and he can’t deal with this, can’t deal with this feeling of being split open because every time this has happened in the course of their relationship he’s been glued back together by Harry, but Harry doesn’t want him and it  _hurts_.

And his face is in his hands and the tears are racing each other down his cheeks as he draws his knees to his chest and curls in on himself because he feels small and broken and he’s trying to hold himself together but it’s not  _working_  and how is he supposed to forget it happened when Harry is simultaneously the best and worst thing that ever happened to him?

And isn’t it ridiculous because Harry had practically told him he was in love with him in his little speech in the bedroom, so Louis doesn’t understand why this is happening. If he loves Harry and Harry loves him why can’t Harry just tell him and they can live happily ever after.

Louis doesn’t understand anything at the moment. He doesn’t understand why Harry is doing this, he doesn’t understand why he let himself get in this situation, and he doesn’t understand why he loves Harry so much when the universe is hell bent on keeping them apart.

There are arms around him, a pair around his shoulders and a pair around his waist, and he immediately recognizes Liam and Zayn’s scents. It’s soothing in some ways, but it’s mostly just heart wrenching—he wants Harry to be holding him, not his friends. He lets them hold him as his sobs escalate, Zayn pressing kisses to his forehead while Liam traces comforting patterns on his back.

“Louis,” Niall’s voice sounds from the floor by his knees, and he feels the Irishman rest his arms across Louis’ thighs in offer of support, “Do you wanna tell us what’s going on?”

“I—” Louis tries to force the words out, but he chokes on them, a strangled sob coming out in their place. Niall sighs sadly, leaning down and kissing Louis’ knee.

“This is what I meant when I told you guys to be careful,” he whispers, eyes trained on Louis’ trousers, “I knew sooner or later one of you would get hurt.”

“I wasn’t—” Louis takes a shuddering breath as the sobs threaten to cut him off again, “I wasn’t  _supposed_  to fall in love with him.” And he dissolves into tears once more.

“Wait,” Zayn says, pulling away slightly to get a better look at Louis’ face, “You’re in love with him?”

“Y- _yes_ ,” Louis wails desperately, “Only I  _shouldn’t_  be, because he doesn’t love _me._ ”

“Lou,” Liam sighs, sitting up and fixing Louis with a fatherly look, “Did you tell him you love him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis sobs, “And he thought I was just saying it so he’d let me  _fuck_  him again.”

“Oh, wow,” Liam looks startled, eyebrows rising to kiss his fringe, “Uh—that’s uh… That’s—wow. Okay. Um. I don’t really feel qualified to be giving advice on this, to be honest.”

“Look, Louis,” Zayn tells him gently, “We can’t fix this for you, okay? You need to sort this out between you and Harry. Knowing him, he’s hurting just as much as you are—you just have to talk to him about this, yeah?”

“I guess,” Louis sniffles, his sobs having quieted to little hiccoughs and whimpers, “What if he won’t listen?”

“Make him,” Niall tells him firmly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The three of them stand up, dropping kisses to Louis’ cheeks and passing a hand through his hair as they move to exit the flat. “We’ll be back tomorrow, mate. Try to sort this, yeah?”

Louis nods, watching as they leave, and curls up on the couch, trying not to start crying again as the hurt crawls up his throat and claws at his tear ducts. He needs a plan of action.

*~*~*~*

Louis spends pretty much the whole day on the couch watching reruns of shitty sitcoms and eating his weight in ice cream. He moves once or twice to go to the bathroom or get another flavor of ice cream, but other than that he stays put. By seven thirty he caves and shoves  _The Vow_ into the DVD player, ready to cry at someone else’s problems for a short time.

A half hour in and he’s a sobbing mess, his spoon making frequent visits to his mouth as he packs away lump after lump of ice cream. His tears fall harder when his spoon finally hits the bottom of the carton, because  _dammit why do bad things happen to good people_.

“Are you actually watching  _The Vow_  right now?” Louis’ head shoots up at the sound of Harry’s derisive tone, turning around to face his flat mate. He throws the spoon into the empty ice cream carton and shoves it away, hastily wiping the tears off his face and reaching to pause the movie.

“What’s it to you?” He asks gruffly, wanting this conversation to be over. Harry raises an eyebrow, his face carefully blank of all emotion except amusement.

“You’re just more of a pussy than I thought you were,” Harry tells him, voice maliciously mirthful. Louis’ jaw drops slightly, anger bubbling in his stomach. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he doesn’t like it.

“Fuck you, Styles,” he spits out, glare settling onto his face as he stands up. The couch is still separating them, but it doesn’t really matter at the moment as the two glower at each other.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Harry says, condescending smirk curling on his lips, “You  _love_  it when I fuck you.”

“Fuck off,” Louis retorts, his brain scrambling for something wittier as his cheeks heat up. To his embarrassment, he finds himself hardening at Harry’s words—this is how it all started the first time, after all.

“I don’t think I will,” Harry tells him, moving closer to the couch until he’s leaning against it, leering at Louis over its back, “I don’t think you want me to, either.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Louis growls, angry that Harry suddenly thinks it’s okay to fuck with his emotions like this, after everything that’s happened, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Harry explains, like it’s obvious, “I  _want_  to fuck you over this couch.”

“You—” Louis chokes, “You— _what_?”

“You heard me,” Harry says, leaning back and crooking a finger to beckon Louis forward, “C’mere.”

“I—what— _no,_ ” Louis splutters, moving around the couch towards the stairs, eyes trained on Harry’s face, whose whole body was turning to stay facing Louis, “No, I’m having sex with you, Harry, not after today.”

“Really?” Harry asks, his voice dropping into a husky murmur as he moves closer to Louis, “You won’t?”

“No,” Louis says firmly, although he’s frozen where he is, next to the stairs, “I don’t want to.”

“That’s funny,” Harry says, leaning so his mouth brushes the shell of Louis’ ear with each carefully enunciated word, “Because your dick tells me differently.”

“You don’t—” Louis starts to say, but his mind is wiped blank as Harry’s hand cups him through his trousers, a groan tearing at his throat instead.

“What was that?” Harry asks smugly, as he strokes tantalizingly slowly, “You—you  _do_  want me to fuck you?”

“F-fuck,” Louis whimpers as Harry squeezes gently, his eyes slipping shut as he bucks involuntarily into Harry’s hand. He’s lost his will to fight,  _fuck_.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry grins filthily into Louis’ ear. His lips trail along Louis’ cheek and jaw, making their way lazily to Louis’ own as Harry continues to caress Louis through his trousers. Harry’s free hand pushes Louis’ shirt up as he finally kisses him, pushing his mouth forcefully onto Louis’. Louis gasps, his hands gripping Harry’s curls tightly, of their own accord.

Harry chuckles, slipping his tongue into Louis’ mouth to explore, and shoves him harder against the wall. Louis whines, pushing his hips into Harry’s hand and opens his mouth further, sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth. He yanks hard on Harry’s hair, pulling him impossibly close as Harry’s hands work together to push Louis’ shirt up. They break apart briefly as Louis’ shirt slings over his head, mouths clashing back together desperately as the article of clothing hits the floor.

It’s hot and Louis’ sweating but he doesn’t care right now because all he wants is _Harry out of those clothes_. They pull apart again and Louis rips Harry’s shirt over his head, flinging it across the room in his haste, and Harry’s head moves to his neck. He bites down harshly, startling another moan out of Louis, and soothes the red mark with his tongue. He nips along Louis’ collarbone, sucking and licking and biting, drawing groans and moans and whimpers out of Louis’ throat.

“I changed my mind,” Harry pants against Louis’ skin, “Couch is too far away—I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

“Yes, okay, sounds good,” Louis rambles, thrusting up into Harry’s hips. Harry yanks Louis’ trousers down, taking his boxers with him, and spins Louis around so he’s pressed against the wall. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of lube he’d brought downstairs with him, coating his fingers and breaching Louis quickly.

Louis groans, pushing back against the two fingers Harry was thrusting inside him, panting and desperate for more. Harry continues stretching him, adding a third finger and scissoring, as he undoes his trousers with one hand.

Louis whines loudly as Harry pulls his fingers out, rolling his hips in search of the missing appendages. When Harry begins to push into him instead, Louis’ vision goes white and he shoves himself backwards, taking Harry in with a desperate sob. Harry’s answering yelp is muffled into Louis’ neck as Harry thrusts into Louis in return.

It’s quick and messy and Louis comes first, all over the wall in front of him, but he couldn’t care less because Harry’s coming hard inside him and it’s a feeling that he never wants to let go of. He closes his eyes, trying to just enjoy these last few moments, with Harry gripping him like his life depends on it, settled intimately inside him, because he knows they won’t last much longer.

And they don’t; Harry pulls out slowly, his hands sliding to grip Louis’ elbows, as he catches his breath against Louis back. It’s silent but for their panting, and Louis’ settling into it, when it’s broken suddenly by Harry’s bitter voice.

“Does it burn, Louis?” Harry pants huskily into Louis’ sweat-soaked hair, hands clenching tighter around Louis’ elbows.

“What?” Louis breathes confusedly. Harry chuckles darkly.

“When you’re in love, it burns,” Harry continues softly, mouth pressed to the shell of Louis’ ear as he grinds the words out roughly, “It’s a fire in your belly that sears through your veins and sets you alight; you can feel the flames licking at your insides,  _burning_  you from the inside out. Love can be bright and beautiful, if contained. Fire and love are dangerous things, Louis, you have to be careful with them—they’re not to be played with. They can keep you safe and warm, give energy and light if treated with care. The second you falter, it’ll consume you. It’ll curl around your heart and  _squeeze_  and  _burn_  until you’re left with nothing but a blackened clump of flesh. Burns can’t be undone, Louis. Burns of that caliber don’t heal—not ever. And it’s burning, Louis. It’s  _burning me_. So, tell me, Louis. Tell me how it’s burning  _you._ ”

Louis stands there, stunned, naked, and sweaty, as Harry pulls away from him, scoffing, and leaves, the slam of his bedroom door echoing through the now quiet flat. His back is cold, now, without Harry pressed up against it, and he feels it. He feels it burn.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey Lou, pass me a beer?” Zayn lounged on the couch, arm along the back behind Liam’s tense form. The broader boy, along with Niall, was leaning forward intently, eyes on the football match currently decorating the telly. Louis moved mechanically, eyes toward the telly, but unfocused. He really couldn’t find it in himself to care about the match, or to care enough to try and focus his attention on anything other than the massive headache that had been pounding in his head for the past week. It felt like an overwhelming pressure building and building, but he had no idea what would make it go away. Well, maybe he did, but he wasn’t ready to do it just yet.

Louis had stopped talking. Stopped talking /to/ people at least. The only time he talked was to himself, in mumbled breaths and whispers, tugging at his fingers and avoiding Harry at all costs. He smiled with the other boys, tried to laugh, but he was Louis and he wasn’t talking and that was just plain strange. To the boys’ credit, they didn’t mention it, reserving their skeptisism to sidelong glances and worried brows. 

Harry tended to ignore him most of the time, including now. He was on the other side of the room, tapping roughly on his phone and not paying much attention to the match either. The only time the younger boy gave any of his attention to Louis was when Harry took him again, and again, despite his silence. Once a night a silent fuck that made him speak while it lasted, before Louis slipped back into himself, eyes to the floor and tough tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Louis stood. Unable to cope with the pounding in his head that resembled the beat of Harry’s heart and the heavy bass of his voice. It was a steady rhythm that hadn’t gone away, not even when he slept, if he slept.

Walking to the kitchen, he wondered idly if it was normal for a person to feel like this about another person. This overwhelming sadness and suffocating burning in his chest and lungs and on his skin. He figured it wasn’t. 

The air was less thick in here, a window cracked above the sink, letting in a soft breeze and causing the napkins on the counter to flutter slightly. Louis picked them up and opened the top cupboard, placing them on the shelf and closing the door softly.

“Game seems to be heating up.”

Louis nearly yelped as Zayn’s face appeared where the cupboard door had just been, his easy voice sliding through the quiet air, cutting through the light static of the game from the other room. The oldest boy forced his lips up in a tight smile and nodded.

“Not really interesting, though, is it?” Zayn asked. His voice was like it always was, smooth and seemingly unperturbed by everything going on around him, but Louis caught a glimpse in his eye as he looked away, a glimpse that told him he wasn’t just talking about the match. Louis shrugged.

“I just wish Liam wasn’t so glued to the telly, I’d probably take off with him, do something more fun. Wouldn’t blame you if you did a runner just now.” Zayn cocked a lazy eyebrow and pushed off the counter, wrapping his hand around a brown, glass bottle of beer and heading back out to the living room.

Louis blinked. Do a runner?

He didn’t think; his feet moved him out of the kitchen and down the hall, hands grabbing keys and jacket and opening the door. The air outside had chilled considerably as the sun set below the horizon and the wind whistled through the cracks between the buildings, towering high above him. He shivered. The warmth of his car was welcomed, though it did little to increase the temperature in any form but physical, and even that was debatable. 

The night air shuddered as the car roared to life and he tore out of the park, heading north.

——

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Harry mumbled into his phone, knee bouncing. 

“Hey, you’ve reached Louis’ phone. I’m busy right no—” 

“Fuck.” He hung up violently, throwing his phone on the cushion beside him and running his hands through his hair. It was nearly four am and Louis hadn’t come home yet. He had been trying not to care, but that was damn near impossible when his entire being burned to touch the guy every second of the day; to hear his voice and watch the way his lips moved as he smiled and laughed and talked. 

His hand searched out his phone again and he pressed the screen hard, bringing up Liam’s number.

“Liam,” he said as soon as the ringing stopped. 

“Harry?” Liam’s voice was faint and groggy and Harry could hear the sheets of his bed russling in the background. 

“Wha’s he want now?” A muffled voice asked faintly somewhere in the distance as the sheets russled more. If Harry hadn’t been so intent on his goal of finding Louis, he might have wondered what Zayn was doing with Liam in bed at four am.

“Harry,” Liam continued. “It’s four am.”

“Yeah, yeah I know that. I just—” He breathed in through his nose. “Have you seen Louis? I mean, after he left. He hasn’t come home.”

“Harry, I’m sure he’s fi—” Liam was cut off by a mumble. Harry couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but he figured the two were talking about Louis’ whereabouts, something he was particularly keen on knowing at the moment.

“Liam.” His voice was almost a whine as it slipped over the reciever, causing the boys on the other end to cease their whispering. “Where is he?”

Liam sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I have— I have an  _idea_ but it’s not one hundred percent and it’s four in the morning—”

“Yeah, I got that, actually. Kind of the reason I need to know where the fuck Louis’ got himself to.”

Another mumble and what sounded like Liam shushing the other voice. “Look, Haz. There’s nothing you can do at four am, alright? So just go to sleep, you can worry about it in the morning.”

“He  _disappeared_ , Liam! He fucking disappeared and he didn’t tell anyone where he was going. HE DIDN’T TELL  _ME_!”

Silence for a beat.

“Haz… Why does it matter to you?”

“It  _matters_  because he isn’t home and I don’t know where he is and he’s supposed to tell me where he is—”

“Woah.” Liam interrupted his rambling, stopping him before his voice began to rise once more. “He doesn’t have to tell you anything. You rejected him and broke his heart and you’re actually a complete dick to him pretty much all the time, not to mention you’re just being stubborn, so why do you  _care_  where he is at all?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!” The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them. He wished he could grab them out of the air and stuff them back in, swallow them down and hope they never surfaced again, but that was impossible. They were out in the open, through the air to the other end of the phone where his two bandmates sat silently.

It swallowed him, the lack of a response. It was almost as though the world had stopped altogether and he was the only one left, spinning round and round and round himself as his head swam with anger and frustration and sadness and fear and love, overwhelming love. A love that tore at his limbs and his mind and his very existance and now Liam knew, and Zayn knew, and he was sure it wouldn’t be long before Niall knew as well.

“Haz,” Liam began quietly, his voice patient as always. “I think— I think you need to sleep. You need to wait for him to come to you. You hurt him.”

“He hurt me,” Harry shot back. 

“He loves you.”

Harry could do nothing but shake his head, vigorously, erupting a sharp pain in his temple. “Nonono. He can’t—”

“He does, and you rejected him for no reason and now he is hurting. You need to wait for him, and when he does finally come home, you need to apologize.”

“I won’t!”

“Don’t be a baby, Harry. If you want it to work, you need to apologize.”

“You don’t understand, Liam.” Harry’s head leaned limply against his hand.

“No, I really don’t actually,” Liam nearly chuckled. “You’re completely right about that. I don’t understand you two at all, never have, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize. You know what? Just— just promise me you’ll sleep on it, ok? Louis is a big boy, I am sure he is fine, don’t worry. If he doesn’t show up by tomorrow night, then you can go looking, ok?”

Harry sighed, ruffling his hair and pushing it to the side. “Yeah, fine. Ok.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Liam. You too, Zayn.”

There was a muffled chuckle before Zayn responded.

“‘Night, Hazza.”

——

Louis’ mother didn’t ask questions when he showed up at her door a little past midnight, something he was grateful for. He most likely looked a right mess; his hair sticking up — and not in a way that was purposeful and styled — and dark bags settled heavily under his eyes. She simply hugged him and led him to his room, making his bed as he shucked his clothes and tucking him in with a kiss on the forehead. 

He would talk to her tomorrow, maybe. If she made him. But talking to her about it was too much like talking to Harry about it, and he didn’t want to do that. Talking at all was too much like talking to Harry about it, which was most likely the reason he hadn’t said a word to anyone, particularly Harry, in the past week.

He knew he had to say something to his flatmate, that much was obvious, but no matter how obvious it was, it didn’t make it any easier to actually  _do_  it. He had shuffled silently around the house for the past week, avoiding Harry’s gaze, eyes on the ground, on his hands, on anything but the face and body and  _being_  that made his heart clench tightly and singe and sting with the burn. It hadn’t stopped, not even slightly, since they fucked against the wall and Harry hissed so close in his ear. If anything, it had gotten stronger. It was nearly crippling whenever Harry was too close, but Louis was too scared, too traumatized to say anything.

“Harry, I need to talk to you,” he said to his own reflection in the mirror, attempting, for the millionth time, to get the words just right. The sun had greeted him harshly that morning, and he had spent the past several hours staring at his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know why you thought I was only using you, because I wasn’t— fuck.”

His hands flew to his hair and he sat on his bed heavily, elbows resting on his knees. The empty contents of his stomach boiled and churned as he shook his head angrily. He hadn’t eaten, not really. They hadn’t been sharing meals, hadn’t been in the same room very often actually, and Louis suspected that Harry hadn’t been eating well either. It shouldn’t have concerned him as much as it did, but it did, and that was it. 

Their whole situation was majorly fucked up and it wasn’t fair. 

“Maybe you should just tell Harry that.” 

Louis’ head shot up. Niall was standing in the doorway of his childhood bedroom, arms crossed and body resting its weight slightly against the doorframe.

“You might want to start keeping your thoughts silent, mate, if you don’t want people overhearing,” Niall shrugged, entering the room and sitting beside Louis. “You’d been doing so well, too.”

Louis sat up silently, watching Niall with questioning eyes. 

“Just came to check up on you. Harry called Liam last night, a bit upset about you not coming home. Thought I’d check on you before he did.”

Louis huffed a sigh and flopping back on his bed, arms sprawling above his head. Niall smirked.

“Can I be honest with you?” 

Louis turned his head on the mattress to face the blonde boy. He might not have spoken with his mouth, but he spoke enough with his eyes for Niall to know he meant “aren’t you always?”

Niall shrugged off a chuckle and shifted his weight so he could look Louis in the eye. “Just fucking do it, alright? Just tell him. Stop moping about and just do it. I can’t handle all this… _this_  whatever the fuck it is. I know you’re shite with words, that’s obvious, but just— Just tell him, yeah?”

He stood up lazily, adjusting his snapback over his blonde fringe and patting Louis’ knee before walking toward the door of the bedroom. He turned to look over his shoulder before leaving. “You realize that I just made the car drive me three hours just to say that to you, right? So you better fucking listen to me, you stubborn twat.”

Louis tried not to smile as Niall turned once again and left the room.

He just needed to stop being a pussy and do it. Just go home and tell Harry exactly how he felt. 

Running a hand through his hair once, he stood up and grabbed his coat and keys. His hand hovered over the handle of his door, as if by touching it he is sealing his fate and he wouldn’t have the three hours drive to change his mind. But maybe it was better to stay with that mindset, because otherwise he would almost definitely turn back around and run from his problems like he did the first time.

 _That had been Zayn’s idea anyway_ , he thought as he forced his hand down to open the door and pushed himself into the hall and down the stairs. Louis’ mind was so focused on leaving, he didn’t see his mother, hands cradling a cup of tea in the doorframe of the kitchen, until she called out to him.

“Go get him, Boobear.”

He spun his head to look at her, hand hovering the handle of the front door this time, one arm through the sleeve of his jacket. His mouth open in surprise, words stuck in his throat. Jay smiled at him knowingly and set her mug down on the table against the wall of the hallway before walking toward him. Her hands were gentle and her face kind when she looked at him, helping to put his other arm into the sleeve of his jacket.

“I’m your mother, Lou. I know you. Not to mention I’ve known that you and Harry have hated each other since the beginning. But I  _also_  know that hatred like that, well, it’s a strong feeling and sometimes it’s used to cover something else up; something I think you discovered recently I’m guessing, because there is no other reason for you to show up at my doorstep past midnight without saying a word. No one else could affect you like that but Harry. I’ve seen it. And now you’re rushing out of the house after a very,  _very_  quick visit from one Niall Horan? I can put two and two together. I’m not blind, you know.”

Jaw still slack, Louis stood motionless and allowed his mother to zip his jacket for him and brush off his shoulders.

“Now,” she held his shoulders and stood back. “You go do what you have to do so I don’t have to worry about you anymore, yeah?”

Louis nodded and she lowered her arms. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but the words stuck in his throat, reserved, at least for now, for a different person entirely.

——

The ride back to London from Doncaster almost felt as though it didn’t happen. Louis sat in the dark, car engine off, both hands still gripping the steering wheel. He sucked in the stale car air through his nose and closed his eyes, forcing his hands off the wheel and onto the door to push it open and let him out. 

It’s a weird sensation, fighting yourself. Especially when you are so used to fighting someone else. He was out of his element, nervous and unprepared, but he pushed on anyway, hoping the benefit would be worth it all, not wanting to live this half life anymore, wanting to dull the burn.

The click of the door seemed to echo through the air, loud and shameful, as if purposefully alerting every fucking person on Earth that Louis Tomlinson was in fact slinking back home after a day of running from his horribly cliche problems. It mocked him, making him feel even shittier about himself than he already did. He’d never liked that door.

Louis’ eyes dragged across the floor as he unzipped his jacket, wincing at the loud noise that made as well. It was as though every inanimate object in his life was out to get him. Air escaped his lungs and his hands lifted the jacket to its hook. He turned. Harry. Fuck.

The boy stood, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, much like Niall had only hours earlier.

“Where have you been?” Harry asked, voice lower than Louis remembered.

“Mum’s.” Louis answered simply. If Harry was surprised that Louis was talking to him again, he didn’t show it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t know I needed to.” Louis wasn’t sure what to do. Harry wasn’t yelling, which was good right? But Louis wasn’t sure what to do with this. He wasn’t sure how to start. He didn’t want to yell first, despite the fact that he felt like screaming at Harry that he didn’t own him. He was able to come and go as he liked without having to tell the  _younger_  boy. But at the same time, there was a tiny piece of his mind that was sort of happy that Harry had worried. “Harry, about the other night—” 

“No, don’t. I get it, alright?”

“No, you really don’t. You don’t get it. I don’t know why but you have some deluded mindset in your brain that I couldn’t possibly love you, and yeah, maybe that’s kind of my fault since I’ve basically told you I hated you since we met, but honestly, can you blame me?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, standing upright. 

“No! Harry, listen to me! I just needed to get away for a while to figure stuff out, alright? This isn’t easy for me—”

“And you think it’s easy for  _me_?!” Harry took a step forward, still a meter or two from Louis, but the smaller boy flinched back. “Do you think this past  _day_  was easy for me?  _I didn’t know where you were, Louis!_  Do you know how nervewracking that is?! Do you know what it feels like to be abandoned?”

Louis growled in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. “I didn’t fucking abandon you, Harold! I went to  _my mum’s house_! For one night! GOD! It was killing me to see you every single day, and to let you fuck me, knowing that it meant NOTHING to you!”

They had gravitated closer, nearly touching now, eyebrows furrowed in anger and frustration and pain. Harry reached out a hand, grabbing Louis’ wrist.

“It didn’t mean nothing,” he hissed, bringing Louis close. “It meant  _everything_. Those few fucking minutes were the only time I could at least  _pretend_  that you weren’t lying to me.”

“I’m not fucking  _lying_ , Harold!” Louis cried, wrenching his hand free from Harry’s strong grip. “I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU YOU ABSOLUTE—” 

His words were cut off by Harry’s lips on his, pressing him into the wall and pulling his body close. “Stop lying,” he mumbled into Louis’ mouth. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“I’m not. That’s what’s been trying to tell you, you twat.”

“Shut up.” Harry sealed their lips again, pressing his body flush against Louis’, pinning the smaller boy’s hips back against the wall with his own. His hand ran up Louis’ sides, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.

Louis knew he should stop Harry, should talk and use his words not his actions, which was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place, but Louis always managed to fuck up when he talked, and regret the things he said, even if they seemed right at the time, so he didn’t. He let Harry run his hands down the back of his thighs, and let the younger boy lift him up to balance on his narrow hips. He let Harry carry him to his bedroom and deposit him on the bed before shedding his clothing. He let Harry remove his trousers and pants. He even went so far as to let the larger boy slather his fingers with lube and press them into his ass and really, at this point there was nothing holding him back anymore, so maybe talking wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I love you, Harry,” he moaned as Harry moved his long, slender fingers inside of him. Harry didn’t stop now, he merely moved faster, eyes intent on the way Louis’ legs were sprawled open and waiting and how his back arched off the mattress. “I love the way you’re a complete  _idiot_  a-and you’re so fucking…  _posessive_  all the time.” Louis growled, pressing his hands into the bed and clenching the sheets. “I love the w-way you want t-to own me. I love the way you look in the mo-orning.” His breath was coming in short gasps and his hips were pressing back against Harry’s hand needing more than the three fingers inside of him. “Please, Harry,” he whispered.

Harry was quieter than usual, and Louis wasn’t quite sure how to take it but  _oh my god_  his hand was there and  _he_  was  _there_  and Louis was having a hard time keeping his train of thought or any thought really. He focused on his breathing as he felt the familiar stretch and burn when Harry pushed into him. Big hands cradled his sides, resting on his waist, making his skin hot and burning and slick with sweat.

“Harry— I love you so much it h-hurts me.” He keened, circling his hips down as Harry began to move. There was a delicious pain; his emotions personified, and he didn’t want it to leave. It was physical proof that this pain was worth it, was worth the fight for the end result. “I love all the stupid— everything— just— I can’t use words. N-not like this. I needed to  _show_  you. I needed to show you what you showed me. I needed you to feel how much I loved you.” 

Harry sucked in a breath and Louis watched him, watched as this eyes flickered back and forth, as though he was trying to understand, to comprehend everything that had just been said. His large hands tightened on Louis’ waist and he rested their foreheads together, moving his hips in and out, filling Louis and taking it away. The younger boy stared at him, eyes intent and green and oh so deep Louis thought he could drown in them; climb into the dark pupils and bury himself forever.

“I can’t—” Harry struggled out, voice soft and low and strangled and hips nearly stuttering to a halt. “I can’t lose you. I can’t have you leave me. I can’t— I can’t get  _hurt_  again.”

Louis pressed their lips together, his legs wrapping around Harry’s strong back and pulling him in, all the way so he felt so full he might never be able to move again.  _This_  was happiness and _this_  was love. This burning, physical, emotional, everything burning everywhere and consuming them together as one being.

“I feel it too, Harry. I feel the burn. Don’t leave me alone with it.”

Green, flashing across his vision and nearly blinding him. 

“Promise me,” Harry said, voice low and harsh as his hips snapped back and forth roughly, driving Louis into the mattress, driving him insane in the most delicious way. “Promise me you won’t hurt me.”

“Yes-  _yes_!” Louis cried, arching his back as he felt the heat coiling tightly in his belly and his thighs beginning to quiver. “Yes, I promise, Harry. Harry I love you. I lo—”

His mouth fell open and he moaned loadly and hotly into Harry’s ear, walls clenching tightly and erraticly around him, pulling him in. “I. Love you,” he breathed.

Harry fell over the edge, clutching at Louis’ body and spilling over inside of him, walls crashing in as he gasped for air in the stagnent room. His lungs were burning, a fire too lethal to be lust, a fire that had been chasing him for years. It had finally caught up with him and he watched as the fire smiled beneath him, holding him and whipsering into his ear, kissing him until he felt like nothing could survive its beautiful flames.


End file.
